


Second Chances

by Anneeny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Murder Mystery, My First Fanfic, Slow Burn, Tomione Fest 2018, Violence, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneeny/pseuds/Anneeny
Summary: Tom Riddle has never been one for mediocrity, so when given the chance, he seeks out the one person able to tell him the future; a blind hag living in the Black Forest of Germany.  However, he does not like what he is told one bit.  How is he supposed to change it and who the bloody hell does this Hermione Granger think she is?  Tied for Best Characterization of Hermione in the Tomione Fest 2018 contest! *Still a work in progress!*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
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> Tom Riddle has never been one for mediocracy, so when given the chance he seeks out the only person able to tell him the future, a blind hag living in the Black Forest of Germany. However, he does not like what he is told one bit. How the hell would he get his hands on a time turner anyways and who the bloody hell does this Hermione Granger think she is?

Chapter 1 – Second Chances

  
   Back and forth she rocked in her wooden rocking chair, enjoying the creaking it forced from the floor boards beneath her. Her old bones weren’t what they used to be and although in her more youthful days she would have taken advantage of the cool breeze and bright sun to tend her garden, the old hag was now content to sit lazily and simply exist. She had other things on her mind today. She was expecting company and wouldn’t dream of greeting the gentleman with dirt staining her hands.

   “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I should forget that others can see,” she chuckled merrily. How long had it been since some desperate soul braved the Black Forest seeking her guidance and insight. That alone showed their worth, but the man she was expecting had traveled from farther than most. Her sisters did not condone her interest in the world of man, but she liked being able to point an influential few in the right direction. The one she intended on meeting with would be influential indeed. The winds had whispered of his coming for three days. The night owls hooted their warnings that she should flee and even her faithful cat had ran away that very morning. The Hag did not fear her fate. She knew she would die on this day.

   “But at least it’ll be by the hand of a handsome young man!” she cackled again, which quickly turned into a dry, hacking cough.

   The shutters of her window shook from a breeze that signaled the arrival of her demise. She reached out her right hand for her walking staff and slowly used it to push herself into a hunched standing position. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders and faced her front door, smiling sweetly.

   She heard the dry door hinges squeak followed by steps. The pair of feet stopped before her. She could smell his sweat, his soiled clothes and his hate.

   “You have traveled far,” she said slowly, unsure of her German accent on English ears.

   “I have,” a velveteen voice stated matter-of-factly.

   “And to have come during such a time as this! The war brings dangers to all of those who enter Germany.”

   “The war is over,” he said. “Grindelwald’s defeat was but a few weeks ago.”  
   She grunted. “My, is it that time already? As well as I can see all that is to come, you would think I could be better at knowing the now!” she barked a laugh. “But please, where are my manners? Have a seat. You have a question for me, do you not?”

   He did not sit. He stood perfectly still. Had her keen ears not picked up the sound of his even breaths, she might have thought he vanished.  
   “My future, witch. I would have you tell me everything you see of it.”

   “Goodness, straight to the point then.” Her lips stretched into a toothless grin. She lifted her walking staff slightly off the ground then slammed it down with a loud crack. Suddenly, she could see. The walls and furniture of her home became visible and shown with dull blue hue while the view outside her windows glowed with a rainbow radiance that only life could create. Drawing her gaze to the man before her, there stood a red and pulsing figment of depravity.

   He is already so far gone, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled a white mist. “You will rise above all wizards. Admired, exalted and above all else feared.” As she spoke, the mist flowed from her mouth, swirling around and forming the shape of a skull above the man’s head. He looked up at it, but remained silent. She continued. “Your ideals will be shared by many and they will bow to your command. They will indoctrinate your philosophy into their lives. They will serve you. They will kill for you.” A long stream of mist slithered from the skull’s mouth and took the form of a snake. “But prophesy will spell your doom.” The snake and skull shattered. “A mother’s love and a savior of your own making will render you into something less than a man. Less than an insect. You will scrape and crawl your way back to the heights you once stood from, but will fail in the end.” Three figures of mist rose from the ground forming two young men and one girl with large wild hair. “The savior will topple you once again aided by one shown to me as the knight. He will keep the savior’s spirit true and just.” The figures of the two men slowly evaporated. The hag’s voice raised an interval. “But she will pave his path. She will guide him with her wisdom and cunning. The true irony in your downfall. The death of Voldemort,” she hissed his self-made name as the mist began to swirl chaotically, “will be brought upon by a muggle-born witch.”

   “No!” a bright green light blasted the hag backwards and into the wall. Her head cracked hard, breaking the oracular spell and with it dispelling her brief vision. She slid to the ground coughing. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders. “You will tell me her name,” he demanded.

   The woman grinned. “You will learn it in time. This is not the question you should be asking me.”  
The hands on her shoulders tightened for a second, then relaxed and withdrew. “How do I change it? How do I keep myself from being defeated?”

  “Come closer, dear boy, I’ll tell you.” He leaned towards her and tilted his ear towards her mouth. She breathed deep. “You can’t!” she hollered in his ear and laughed uncontrollably as he flinched backwards. “Your destiny is set, Little Riddle, and it must play out! But,” she sneered conspiratorially, “since you’re going to kill me here anyway, there is a way you could be given a second chance.” She reached to a golden chain she wore around her neck and grasped it tightly. The heavy pendant hung from the necklace but stayed hidden beneath her shirt. “The choice is yours, but it must be made now, I’m afraid.” She levelled her face up where she knew he stood before her. “You can either take what I am offering you now or resign yourself to the fate I’ve shown you. You’d die a failure and, eventually, be remembered as nothing more than a small paragraph in history."

  He was silent for only a moment. “You hardly give me a choice. What would you have me do?”

  “What you do best,” she sneered. “Raise your wand… and kill me.”

  The subtle rustling of robes signaled his lack of hesitation. She pulled on her chain and the pendant slid out of her shirt. Focusing intently on her vision of his defeat, she flicked her finger against the glass trinket and let it spin as she held it in front of her chest.

  “Avada Kedavra!” The blast broke through the rotating necklace piece and pierced her heart. She gasped while her body arched painfully through the killing curse, but she held strong to her vision. The air around them blew violently and she had the distinct feeling of being pulled into herself. In an instant, all became still and she lay dying upon dew-dropped grass.  
Hecate, Morgan, deer sisters, forgive me for tampering one last time in the fates of men. But hopefully, she thought as her heart stopped, hopefully my soul will rest in peace knowing he has a chance to do what’s right and make a difference…

  
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   Tom blinked in confusion at his surroundings. They were in a forest and night’s darkness surrounded them. The old woman was dead at his feet. He bent down to look closer at the broken object she had clutched in her hand. Small white sand slowly leaked from broken glass. A time-turner?

  He snapped his head up as raised voices in the distance shouted out. He walked briskly through the trees and stopped at a cliff’s edge. There, peaking out over the tree tops, was Hogwarts. Hanging above it was the remnants of a spell that only he knew...

  Morsmodre.

  A slowly rising sun put an end to the Dark Mark and cast light over the aftermath of complete chaos. Hogwarts was in ruins, but students and teachers were running to each other and…laughing? His gaze fell onto a tall, cloaked figure lying dead on the ground. It was him. He could feel it. He clutched his wand tightly. This was his defeat. And they smiled. They celebrated. Immediately, he knew he had to leave. He must go into hiding and learn all that had come to pass. He would reform his plan, and he would kill that girl.

  The one with the wild hair.

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   3 years later  
  
   Hermione patiently sipped her lemon and ginger tea while her red-headed and pregnant friend busied herself around the kitchen. Ginny Potter merrily unloaded Hermione’s boxed dishes and chose cabinet space for them with the expertise of one accustomed to moving about a well-organized kitchen.

  “Gin, as much as I appreciate the help, I really don’t feel right sitting here while you do all of my unpacking.”

  “Shut it, Hermione. I’m pregnant, not inept. What exactly do you expect to get done with your wand arm in a sling?”

  Hermione frowned down at her arm. Three days of choking down home-made skele-gro had her almost completely healed, but moving her shoulder was out of the question until the potions no longer had an effect. She made a mental note to owl for a new supply of scarab beetles in case she needed to brew more. Sighing in defeat, she leaned back against her chair. “I guess you’re right, but don’t worry about any of the bigger stuff. I’ve hired movers to set it all up for me next weekend.”

  Ginny paused to look at her incredulously. “Muggle movers? To move all that stuff?” She gestured to Hermione’s new mattress, broken down bed frame and assorted furniture that sat stuffed in the corner of what would eventually be a living room. “With their hands?”

  Hermione chuckled lightly into her mug. “Yes, Ginny. And then I’ll pay them with my muggle money. From my wallet,” she mocked her sarcastically. “I’m in London! Moving the muggle way is kind of expected here. Besides, you’ve helped me enough.”

  Ginny clicked her tongue and muttered a quiet cleansing spell on the counter-tops. “I just don’t see why you felt the need to move all the way out into the muggle masses. Was getting this far away from Ron really all that necessary?”

  Hermione pressed her lips tightly together and looked out the window.

  “Right. You won’t talk about it. You won’t tell your best friend why you suddenly broke your engagement with my brother and decided to move your life practically next door to your job.”

  “Ginny, please…”

  “I just want you to understand one thing, Hermione, then I’ll let this go.” Ginny’s green eyes stared hard into Hermione’s. “I know Ron has been in a rut lately. Being asked to step down as an auror was a hard blow to his ego and no amount of success at George’s shop is going to help that. I understand wanting to give him space to figure his issues out, but don’t let whatever this is tear the two of you apart.” She smiled sweetly. “You two were meant to be!”

  Hermione forced a smile. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good,” Ginny smiled back. “And you know I’ll be here for you any time if you want to talk.”

  Hermione raised here eyebrow skeptically and looked down at Ginny’s prominent ‘baby bump’. “Sure, Gin. Maybe any time in the next two months.”

  Ginny laughed and flicked her wand at another box of dishes, letting them swoop through the air and land neatly stacked in another cabinet. “Even after James is born.”

  The rest of the evening passed amicably. Ginny was playing the part of the dutiful house wife better than Hermione had expected of her. Ginny was one of those girls that could have gone in any direction with her life. She had been scouted as a Quidditch Chaser, her scores on her NEWT were good enough for working in a few Ministry departments and her writing skills wouldn’t have taken working as a reporter off the table. She was a jack of all trades, but she chose to stay at home and raise baby Teddy Lupin. Hermione had never seen her happier. Now that she was pregnant, motherhood looked good on her. For the last three years, Harry, Ginny and Ted lived together in a humble cottage near The Burrow. Molly made frequent visits while Harry was at the Auror’s office to help Ginny with the young child. Her dream of becoming a grandmother had finally seen fruition through her youngest child and she took every opportunity to dote. Hermione hadn’t completely written off becoming a parent, but being an auror did put a damper on the home life, which Harry could attest to.

  As the sun began to set, Ginny decided to return to the cottage and prepare dinner before Harry returned. She pecked Hermione on the cheek and exited through the fireplace.  
Checking her watch, she opened her purse and reached for a vial of skele-gro. Taking a deep breath, she uncorked the small tube and knocked it back. She didn’t have to suffer long through the taste. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she fell to her knees gritting her teeth. She counted backwards from ten in her mind and focused on her breathing. Over the years, she’d been dealt many types of physical pain. It came with the job and she’d learned to block it out to an extent. She slowly rose back to her feet and sat on her couch where a box that Ginny brought her lay unopened. Harry had sent his wife with progress reports on all of Hermione’s open cases. He knew that she would want to stay up to date on them. Deciding that focusing on work would help distract her from the pain, she reached for a thick file labeled “Priority”. She flipped it open and read through the latest incident. A family of wizards had been attacked two days ago. The mother, father and older sister were all slain, but their newborn baby boy was left alive in his crib with a lightning bolt carved into his forehead. Twenty-three similar cases were in the single folder. Each family, after having a baby boy born into the family, ended up murdered. The babies were the sole survivors each time, enduring only the strange cut along their foreheads. The Prophet had the wizarding world in a panic claiming “He Who Must Not Be Named” had returned, despite the Ministry of Magic’s press release stating these were copy-cat murders. Harry had remained calm on the outside, but Hermione knew each murder put across his desk was a constant reminder of his parents. And with a baby of his own on the way, Hermione feared for the entire family. The murderer’s pattern wouldn’t put them in his line of sight for another couple of months, but they would need to go into hiding before too long. There was no denying the Potters were an inevitable target.

  After an hour of sorting through the lesser case files, Hermione noticed the pain beginning to recede, signaling the potion’s work was done. The last two potions she took had lasted all through the night. Carefully, she peeled back the Velcro and pulled her arm free. She held her hand out in front of her and watched in dismay as her fingers trembled. She swore and grabbed her wand holding it out straight and trying to relax her grip. The wand shook violently. There was no way she would be able to cast spells with her right arm.  
“Damn you, Ronald Weasley. You bloody bastard…”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Dark Eyes Meet Amber

  Tom adjusted his pristine, tailored robes in the mirror. He’d allowed his black hair to grow out and frame his face. His dark eyes scanned the mirror appraisingly before turning to leave the guest room. The Malfoy Manor was much how he remembered it when Abraxas invited him in their early years. He was fortunate that Lucius recognized him from his father’s school photos. The sheer terror in his eyes when Tom apparated through his wards into his living chambers had been delicious. Tom was to be introduced to the public as Thomas Yew, a distant relative of the Malfoy’s and lost to the family tree due to impure blood unions. Thomas and his family had all been quibs and were murdered during Voldemort’s uprising. Quibs rarely ever registered within the wizarding community, preferring to live as muggles. This made it easy for Lucius’ more dubious connections to forge documentation claiming young Thomas lived in the muggle society with his family, but was tutored at an early age by a wizard family friend when his magic began to become apparent in order to handle it properly. The story was mutually beneficial to Lucius as well. While Tom would freely be able to integrate into society, Lucius would be seen by the public eye as sheltering a family member in need with impure blood. This would cast him in a more redeeming light. That’s not to say that Tom gave Lucius much of a choice. Abraxas had never been fond of a well-placed Cruciatus Curse. Tom gambled that his son wouldn’t like it either. He’d been right.

  Aside from the two of them, the manor was vacant. Lucius’ wife divorced him after the battle and moved to live with her son, Draco, and his wife. As Lucius phrased it, they had become “main stream” in their ways and could no longer stand by him after all he’d done as a Death Eater. Tom still had a hard time catching up with how indifferent society had become in regards to blood status. He remembered fine restaurants that would only cater to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. At some point, the version of himself that had become the snake-faced Voldemort obsessed with pure-blood ideals. This boggled his mind. From what he’d seen in the few years he’d had to live in the future, blood purity didn’t mean much when it came to magical strength. In fact, he’d read studies that suggested impurity actually strengthened the gift. This explained much in regards to his own talents, he thought.

  He entered the parlor where Lucius was rigidly sitting on his sofa. The house elf, Nixy was serving him coffee. Her pointed ears shot up in alarm and she spun around quickly, deft hands barely disturbing the trey she carried.

  “Nixy is having a cup ready for M-Master Thomas if he is wanting it,” she stammered in her squeaky voice, clearly frightened.

  Tom smiled sweetly. “How very thoughtful of you, Nixy. But no, I have someplace to be today.” His cold eyes slid to the greying man who stirred his cup absently and stared off into the air. Stubble grew across his hollowed face unevenly and his long hair drooped lifelessly across a wrinkled robe. “Lucius, I imagine I won’t be back until later today. I expect the funds we spoke of last night to be transferred into my vault by then.” The older man made no indication that he’d heard him. The house elf tapped him knee lightly and he flinched, blinking rapidly. “Do we understand each other, Lucius?” Tom asked icily.

  “Y-yes, My Lord,” he stammered. “It will be done as you say.”

  “Very good,” Tom praised him, turning toward the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder from an ornamental dish sitting atop its mantle and stepped atop the dead coals. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, turning to face Lucius. “Do yourself a favor and make yourself more presentable in my presence. You’re the very personification of neglect.” He sneered. “Ministry of Magic.” The green ashes poured out between his long fingers and he disappeared in a puff of dust.

  The temperature dropped a few degrees, Tom noted as he stepped from the fireplaces along the edge of the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium. His shoes clicked against the marble floor as he walked, taking in his surroundings. He couldn’t help but grin in revelry of the irony he’d found himself apart of. Here, England’s best and brightest gathered in hopes of putting a stop to dark wizards everywhere and they had just willingly invited their worst fear inside for a job.

  
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  Hermione knew that the office would be curious about her absence, but she wasn’t at all prepared for the wall of bodies that rushed forward to meet her.

  “So, the she-lion finally got struck down on the job, eh?” Todric Barnicus guffawed. He was one of the Auror department’s oldest members. He mostly took care of the petty theft and missing wizard cases. His views on witch aurors was a bit outdated, but for the most part he was a good man and had expert advise for most types of cases. His thick beard hid a sincere smile and he patted her shoulder.

  “You look fine, was it a Death Eater?” Penelope Clearwater asked. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her blue eyes looked worried. The ex-girlfriend of Percy Weasley had been working in the Auror department as their secretary and case collector. All cases that came in by owl were deftly sorted and delivered to the appropriate Auror for handling. She had tried desperately for the last couple of years to befriend Hermione, but they had nothing in common. Still, Hermione stayed polite occasionally entertained her invites out on the town.

  Neville pushed towards her, concerned. “How are you feeling? Should you be back so soon? What happened?” Neville had joined to become an Auror with Harry and Ron after the battle at Hogwarts. He reminded her of simpler times and she was always glad to see him. Except, perhaps, at that particular moment.

  “Everyone, I’m fine. Can I at least get my coffee before you start interrogating me like I’m the next big Dark Wizard?” They backed off, chuckling. Hermione spotted Clarence Clearwater, Penelope’s cousin and the Ministry Department Runner. He wheeled a cart of pepper-up potions, but one tall white cup stood out surrounded by the small vials. “Clarence!” she called in relief and briskly stepped towards him. The scrawny, sandy-haired man grinned awkwardly and reached for the cup. “You got my coffee! How did you know I’d even be in today?”

  He handed her the warm beverage. “I was visiting Penelope over the weekend and she mentioned that Percy said you’d be here. Sorry to hear about you and Ron, by the way.” Hermione froze mid-sip. “Break ups are the worst.”

  The room became silent. All eyes were on the two of them. Hermione sighed, suddenly ready to crawl back into bed. “Thanks for the coffee…” she muttered. Just another piece of her personal life that the whole world would probably know by the end of the day. She quickly strode towards her office where she knew she could sit alone and process being back. In her haste, she turned the corner of the hallway sharply and ran smack into to exact person she did not want to talk to. With a shriek, she lost hold of the precious hazelnut-flavored coffee and it spilled down the front of her black robes.  
“S-Shit!” Hermione hissed savagely. Luckily, she could barely see that her robes were soaked.

  “Hermione!” Harry gasped. “Er… well, sorry about that. But listen, I need to…”

  “Not now, Harry,” Hermione snapped. She brushed around him and continued to her office.

  “But you don’t understand!” He followed after her.

  “Harry, would you just drop it for now? I have work to catch up on.” She pushed open her office door and stopped in the door frame, her breath caught in her throat. She waited for Harry. “Harry Potter. Why exactly is there another desk in my office?”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” He had a worried look in his eyes. “Kingsley wants to speak with you. Right now.”

  
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   Hermione sat stiffly before Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic and head deputy of Magical Law Enforcement. She felt small on the other side of his massive desk. Memos folded into enchanted paper airplanes zipped through a small window in his door and unfolded neatly into piles along the edge of his desk. She adjusted her robes, hoping he couldn’t tell they were soaked with coffee. She didn’t want to chance a drying charm going awry in front of her peers. Nobody needed to know the extent that her injury inhibited her casting spells.

  “Sir, I don’t know how I feel about training a partner at this point in my investigation.” Had she done something wrong? Had he lost faith in her work on the case?  
Shacklebolt glanced over a scroll. “His credentials are top notch, Ms. Granger. I don’t believe much training will need to be done at all before he becomes an asset to you. In your time here with us, you’ve never had a partner and I have let it slide because your results spoke for themselves. Many of the Death Eaters rotting in Azkaban have you to thank for their incarceration. Recent events have reminded me, though, that you are not indestructible. This You-Know-Who Copy Cat has started escalating and I feel it’s time you had someone watching your back especially after you wrote in your last report that you believe there might be multiple murderers.”

  “Why not partner Harry with me then? If there’s anyone that can support me in a dangerous situation, it would be him.”

  Kingsley shook his head and his features grew tired. “Harry is at the top of our list of potential targets. I don’t want him anywhere near the case. I would have had him and his family in hiding by now if he wasn’t so hell-bent on holding out until his wife goes into labor. He doesn’t see any risk until he has his child. Still such a child himself in so many ways. He has your similar air of indestructability. Don’t think I made this choice lightly. I honestly believe this pairing will work well for you. Your new partner’s scores on the NEWT exam were exceptional.”

  Hermione raised her eyebrow. “How exceptional?”

  Kingsley smiled. “Better than yours.” He reached towards a small glass globe hovering an inch above his desk and twisted it once. “Ms. Clearwater, would you have your cousin escort our new recruit into my office?”

  “Yes, Minister,” Penelope’s voice rang out clearly from the floating device. Hermione crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, her curiosity temporarily outweighing her annoyance.  
A few moments later, Clarence poked his head through the door. “I’ve brought him, Minister, sir,” he said, fidgeting with his bow tie.

  “Thank you, Clarence, you may let him in.”

  Long, pale fingers wrapped around the door frame, opening it wide and her partner let himself into the room. Hermione’s flesh broke out in goose bumps. Dark eyes bore into hers and she felt an unexplainable need to run. To scream. To hide and forever try to forget ever seeing those eyes. His gaze tore away as he turned towards Kingsley and he smiled sincerely. She blinked, suddenly confused at why she’d thought him so terrifying. That smile looked so natural on his face. She realized quickly that he was quite attractive. His tall, lean frame moved gracefully across the room and he shook Kingsley’s hand. His black hair hinted at a natural wave that he kept in clean submission.

  “Thomas Yew, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Kingsley said jovially.

  “Thank you for having me, Minister. Your consideration for this job is the highest honor.” His low voice was cool. Most people who met the Minister of Magic for the first time practically stumbled over themselves out of being star-struck, but Thomas’ greeting was free of any nerves or tension.

  Kingsley chuckled, “I appreciate the manners, Mr. Yew, but there’s no need to be so formal here. We will see a lot of each other and it might become tiresome. May I introduce you to your partner?” He motioned to Hermione who schooled her features and stood to greet him. He turned to look at her once more, but his eyes were blank. She felt no hint of the panic that had overwhelmed her a moment ago.

  _Goodness, what’s the matter with me_ , she thought. “I’m Hermione Granger.” She held out her hand and was pleased at how confident her voice sounded. Thomas looked at her outstretched palm for a moment. She had reached out with her left hand instead of her right. Would he think that strange?

  He smiled and took her hand with his left, his grip firm. “Yes, Ms. Granger. Your reputation precedes you.”

  She chuckled darkly as they both took a seat. “You’re a Daily Prophet reader, I presume?”

  “The Prophet, I’ve learned, is not the best source for news, but we’re not exactly able to choose from a variety. But no, I’m speaking of your publications in the Runes and Ancient Spells Periodicals. Your translations were brilliant. And to think you completed your research all in your final year at Hogwarts.”

  Hermione beat back a blush. Not many people knew or even feigned interest in her studies. Most just wanted to know what it was like being friends with the famous Harry Potter. “Well, what about you? My entire life is pretty much out on display for anyone curious to read about.”

  He clasped his hands together on Kingsley’s desk. “There’s not much to tell, really. My parents had me home schooled my entire life. Being a half-blood, they preferred a learning environment that catered to both muggle and wizard lifestyles. I excelled in my studies because of this. My rate of learning wasn’t held back by the slower progression of other students. By the time I was seventeen, I made the decision to fully integrate myself into wizarding society. Shortly after I left home, my parents were killed by Death Eaters during their raids on muggles.”

  Hermione cringed, but sadly this wasn’t an uncommon story. Thomas was lucky to at least know who was responsible for the murders. Most muggles were either lied to or confounded in order to protect the secret of magic.

  He continued. “I reached out through my mother’s family tree and was able to locate a distant relative in Wiltshire. I believe you went to school with his son. Mr. Lucius Malfoy graciously accepted me into his home.”

  Hermione stared at him wide-eyed. “Lucius?” she asked incredulously. She vaguely remembered hearing that after his family left him, he had taken in a ward. But a half-blood likely bastardized out of his family tree?

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Mr. Malfoy has done so much to help me get on my feet. I truly owe him much. But that is where my story ends, I’m afraid. Shortly after my NEWT results were calculated, I received an owl from the Ministry. Becoming an Auror wasn’t my childhood dream, but the deaths of my parents changed my path. I wanted to help prevent such tragedies from ever happening to anyone else.”

  Kingsley nodded. “We are all sorry for your loss, Thomas, and your conviction is noble. Welcome to the team. I would like for Ms. Granger to get you familiar with the cases you will be working on together. Show him around the ministry and introduce him to your resources.”

  Hermione rose from her chair, still unsure about the turn of events. “Yes, Minister.” Thomas stood as well and followed her out.

  Once back in her office – or their office, she had to start reminding herself – she motioned to the new piece of furniture. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Yew. We have quite a lot to cover.”  
“Of course, Ms. Granger, and I am eager to learn everything you have to tell me, but…“ He touched the front of his robes. “Forgive me, but I must point out that you are covered in what I believe my nose perceives to be hazelnut coffee.” Hermione could feel the blush as it began from the top of her head and quickly heated its way down her neck. “Despite the savory aroma, I don’t believe you want to continue today in such attire.”

  She tried to think quickly. His full attention was on her. If she was careful, perhaps she could handle a simple cleansing spell with her left hand. She slowly reached to her wand on her desk. His cool hand stopped her movements.

  “Please, allow me.” He pointed his wand straight at her. Her heart fell into her stomach at standing unarmed at the other end of it. “Tergeo,” he said. The coffee warmed and evaporated off her robes, though remnants of the smell still lingered on them.

  “Th-thanks, Mr. Yew, but-“

  He held his hand up. “Please, call me Thomas.”

  “Thomas. Right,” she said hastily in her eagerness to save face. “But I was perfectly capable of casting my own spell.”

  “Oh, I am well aware of your casting abilities.” Hermione couldn’t tell if his smile was sincere or mocking. “But I want to be as useful to you as possible. I have no qualms being your… right-hand man, so to speak.”

  The bloody prat knows. How had he guessed? Had it been the left handshake she offered in Shacklebolt’s office? His face might be the perfect façade of politeness, but Hermione knew when she was being played. But what could she do? She chose to ignore the dual meaning of his comment.

  “Right, then, let’s begin today with familiarizing you with our cases.” She motioned to the folders she had neatly filed on her desk. “Every Auror or team of aurors is assigned many cases every day ranging by levels of priority. Penelope Clearwater – you saw her in the reception area – receives the owled requests to our department and distributes them out to us. As of now, I only have one high priority case. This is due to its severity. Normally, I’ll have two or three priority cases. Smaller cases, however, have also been assigned to me. They might not seem as important, but everything is time sensitive.” Hermione sat at her desk and reached for her first case file. Thomas stood behind her chair and she tried hard to ignore his close proximity. “For example,” she flipped open the file, “this was delivered just this morning.” Her finger pointed at the top of the page and slowly moved down as she recited the important information. “Maryweather Hansley seems to have lost her familiar… again. Looks like it’s the third cat of hers to go missing in a month. You and I will need to pay her a visit today and take her official statement. Perhaps we can even sort this out upon our initial visit. If not, we aim to have them handled within a week.” She closed the file and reached for a the large folder at the end of her desk. “The rest of these are similar in nature, but I’ve already collected the initial statements from those involved. They require further investigation as they currently stand. Once completed, I return the closed files to Penelope and she submits them to Minister Shacklebolt for his final approval. This case, however,” she touched the folder lightly, “is the reason you’ve been teamed up with me.” She took a deep breath.  “We’ve been referring to this as ‘The Potter Murders Copy-Cat’. The Prophet has more inaccurately called them ‘You-Know-Who’s Third Rising’. I want to begin this briefing by stressing the fact that this is most certainly not the doing of Voldemort. I don’t even believe they are the woks of a single witch or wizard.”  
Thomas’ breath rustled the hair on top of her head as he read over her seated frame. “How can you be so sure it isn’t Voldemort?”

  Hermione noted how easy it was for him to say the name. After so many years of it being taboo to even think his name, most still referred to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She turned her head and gazed up at Thomas. “Voldemort is dead. I watched him die.”

  “And I suppose you would know if he was alive and waltzing around killing people.” His eyes penetrated her.

  “I suppose I would.” She considered his statement. “But, the ugly bastard wouldn’t exactly be easy to miss in a crowd.” She didn’t notice the hand on the back of her chair tense up. “And why the show? If Voldemort really was alive, he’d be in hiding waiting for his chance to exact revenge against Harry. He wouldn’t give him a heads-up first. No, this is the work of his sympathizers. I’m almost sure of it. Most likely, his remaining Death Eaters who have yet to be caught are trying to instill the fear of him back into the public’s mind. There’s also no real directive to any of the killings. Voldemort always struck with purpose and calculation. These murders, at least when they began a year ago, felt like the work of…” she pressed her lips together thinking for the right word.

  “An obsessive amateur?”

  She snapped her fingers and smiled. “You’ve got it, that’s exactly what this feels like. Anyway, the latest murder was just three days ago. You and I will go take care of Maryweather Hansley’s missing cat and then make our way to the latest crime scene. But first, I suppose I should give you the tour.”

  They walked side-by-side through the Auror’s office. Hermione introduced him to those she saw, but most had gotten an early start and were out on their cases. She spotted Harry’s familiar messy black hair. “I suppose you should meet our star Auror,” she muttered, still annoyed about her coffee incident with him that morning. “Harry!” she called. He turned and spotted Hermione, then he spotted Thomas and his smile turned into a confused frown. They walked up to him and Thomas extended his hand in greeting.

  “Mr. Potter, this is an honor.” He sounded genuinely pleased and Harry forced a smile, brows still knit together. “I’m Yew, Thomas Yew.”

  Harry took his hand. “It’s- a pleasure, Mr. Yew.” He paused, shaking his head lightly. “Forgive me, but have we met before?”

  Thomas cocked his head to the side in thought. “No, I don’t believe so. I doubt I’d forget meeting you. I’m still fairly new to the area as well.”

  “He wasn’t a Hogwarts student, so it’s unlikely you’ve crossed paths with him,” Hermione stated, looking around the office for more people to introduce Thomas to.

  “And you’re Hermione’s new partner?”

  Thomas’ smile widened. “That’s right. I’m quite excited to be working with her.”

  Harry took his hand back and rubbed his forehead absently.

  “Alright, Thomas, we’ve got places to be.” Hermione cut the conversation short, eager to continue avoiding Harry. As if suddenly remembering she was there, Harry’s eyebrows drew up high.

  “Wait, Hermione, would you mind coming over tonight to talk? Ginny made pie and I know you hardly have any time to cook for yourself.”

  “Maybe some other time, Harry. I’ve got other plans tonight.”

  She spun on her heal and Thomas gave Harry a casual nod before turning to follow her. They exited through the reception area and entered a lift.

  “Atrium,” Hermione said and the lift slowly descended. She huffed a sigh and leaned against the back wall.

  “So, what other plans could possibly be more important that dining with the famous Harry Potter and eating his wife’s delicious pie?”

  Hermione snorted and glanced at him. “Never be lured by pie, Thomas. He’s trying to pry into my personal business.”

  “Is it not a friend’s job to pry?”

  “Not when they have an agenda.”

  “Well, now even I’m curious.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even have pie to bribe me with. Nice try.”

  He laughed. She supposed it was a nice laugh. The lift doors opened and they walked into the Atrium. “Now,” she said, “I’m sure you’re already familiar with this floor. For those of us under the Ministry’s employ, we enter and exit through the floo gates along that back wall.” She gestured to the fire places where witches and wizards were appearing and disappearing in green puffs of smoke. She guided him toward a plaque near the Fountain of Magical Brethren. She pointed to a notation that listed the different levels of the Ministry.

  “We are currently eight levels deep underground. Our office, as you know, was on the second level. Above that on the first level is Minister Kingsley’s main office, but you’ll honestly usually find him on our floor in the office of the Head Auror. The third level is the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I suggest you make good friends with our team on that floor. A large amount of our cases require their back-up expertise. The fourth level is the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We rarely call on them for help, but we’ll occasionally get wrapped up in their problems from time to time dealing with poachers and what-not. Below them is the Department of Internal Magical Cooperation. They handle the more delicate law-making and international trade agreements. For the most part, our two departments try to stay out of each other’s way. The sixth level is the Department of Magical Transport. Any place you need to get to quickly can be set up with them. Ask for Arthur Weasley and tell him you work with me.” She bit her tongue and re-thought that last bit. Arthur was likely cross about her leaving Ron. “Actually, better to ask for Percy Weasley. He’s got more pull lately.” And he’s less likely to bring family drama to work.

  “The seventh level down is The Department of Magical Games and Sports.” She grimaced and looked at Thomas. “Are you a Quidditch fan, Thomas?”

  He shrugged. “I never fancied sports as much as my peers. They always seemed a bit of a waste of time and energy.” He looked mildly abashed. “That’s not to say that I in any way am downplaying my admiration of your friend’s accomplishments while on the Hogwarts Quidditch team. His skills on a broom were certainly commendable.”

  She waved off his compliment off. “Please, you don’t need to sugar coat the game to me. I hate Quidditch. Sitting through seven years of games then hearing about it from Ron all day long-“ she stopped herself. “Well, I agree with you. It’s a waste of time. Luckily, outside of requesting us to stand as security for the Quidditch World Cup, we have little to do with those jocks.” She slid her finger past the Atrium to the next level. “Below us now is the ninth floor. The Department of Mysteries. That’s another department we don’t have much involvement with. I recently had a case requested by an Unspeakable of the Time Room. I’d had some previous involvement with an incident some years back, so they entrusted me with a case of missing broken time-turners, but…” Hermione frowned, “they never turned up. Not that broken time-turners are worth anything, but it never feels good to let a case go cold. Finally, there’s Basement Level Ten. You can only get there by taking the stairs down in the Department of Mysteries. This is where our court hearings proceed and where we house criminals awaiting transport to Azkaban.” She clapped her hands together once, pleased with her explanation. “Any questions?”

  “Just one.” He touched the plaque lightly, tracing his fingers over the engraved words. “How many people have you sent to Azkaban?”

  She blinked, taken aback. “Oh,” was all she could say for a moment. She couldn’t explain why the question made her feel like a large, sealed off crate in her mind was being pried at. She reminded herself that Thomas was her partner and he would of course want to know such things. “Well, I was able to round up quite a few unruly protestors when I became an Auror, but they didn’t serve maximum time. They were mostly pure-bloods who supported Voldemort’s regime and didn’t want things to revert to how they were before he returned. They vandalized and caused large disturbances, but there weren’t any casualties. Once we contained them for a time, they were released on probation. There were about thirty or forty of that bunch. But since then, once the dust settled, the real menaces slowly crawled out of the woodworks. There are currently three criminals in Azkaban because of me. One was a psychotic who killed just for the thrill, one was a Healer at St Mungo’s who made many groundbreaking discoveries by killing and experimenting on psych ward patients with no family, and the last was a well-known Death Eater on the run. I got lucky catching him.”

  “Were you ever injured?”

  He eyed her shoulder and she subconsciously turned her body to hide it from his gaze. “Not often, but there were a couple times, yes. Once badly by one of the three I mentioned.” She shook her head, fighting off dark memories she preferred to stay buried and forgotten. “Look, there are plenty of Aurors in my department who would absolutely love to sit and tell you there tales over some fire whisky. Despite my notoriety, I couldn’t possibly interest you as much as they would.”

  Thomas cocked his head to the side, inspecting her. “On the contrary, I believe there is much about you to be interested in. And on top of that,” he laughed, “do you honestly expect me to prefer drinking partners comprised of old men over a young, well established woman?”

  She mentally shoved the flattery aside and poked him in the chest with a stiff finger. “Listen, Romeo, what I expect is for you to show more interest in your job than your female partner. We can be chummy, but the case is priority here. Do I make myself clear?”

  His eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn’t decipher, but his features quickly became apologetic and he put his hands in the air. “Forgive me, but I seem to have given you the wrong impression of me. Please understand that I meant nothing untoward. I only wanted you to understand how much I’ve admired your work since my full immersion in the wizarding world. I sometimes get carried away in my excitement. I will do better to focus on the tasks at hand.”

  She frowned. “Good,” she said, not fully convinced. “Right then, let’s get over to the crime scene. I’m interested in seeing what skills you have hiding up your sleeve.” She turned and walked towards the floo gates.

  Tom took a moment to size her up before following. “The feeling is mutual, Ms. Granger,” he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

  
   ~One Week Ago~

  “Hermione, love, you’re just not the kind of girl a bloke decides to make a move on without a…a…” Ron fumbled drunkenly for the word, looking inside his empty pint as if it might be hiding somewhere at the bottom of it. In the pale green and orange lights of the small pub, Hermione could just make out the subtle fluidity of his movements that hinted at the four pints he’d already consumed. His red hair was a tangled mess on his head and he wore a coffee-stained Beatles t-shirt. When she’d asked him before they left for the bar how he knew The Beatles, he wondered at her sanity because how could he possibly forget the Tales of Beatle Bard after listening to her blather about it for a year straight.

  “An ulterior motive?” Hermione provided. She glanced at the dejected man across the pub whom Ron had loudly told off after he’d asked her for the time.

  Ron smiled widely. “Yeah! You see? It’s like you’re in my head. Thass why I love you so much. I’m the only man you can trust not to just leech off your fame. Well, me and Harry, I suppose.” He raised his glass for the barkeep to refill it. He continued listening to the bar’s live broadcast of a Quidditch tournament.

  “Well, thank you Ronald. You certainly know how to make me feel special.”

  “Oh, come ON now. You know I don’t mean that I don’t think you’re alright looking. It’s just that you’re not the first girl a guy would pick out. It’s important to know!”

  She knew there was no arguing the matter with him in the state he was in. It wouldn’t matter how much logic she threw at him, it would just make him angry. “Right. Well, I’ve had enough fun for an evening.” She pushed her unfinished drink away from her. She wasn’t big on public drinking, unlike Ron who almost felt the need to prove how much he could drink every time they went out. Half the time, she wasn’t exactly sure if he even knew who he was trying to impress anymore.

  He pursed his lips in thought and nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ve just received a new shipment of old muggle things I need to sort through tonight anyway.”

  Hermione cringed inwardly. Since Ron had quit his job as an Auror, his father had interested him in his own obscure hobby of collecting muggle trinkets and seeing how they worked. Hermione initially was glad that he was enjoying something, but every new “shipment” meant more of their basement could no longer be used. It was beginning to resemble more of a landfill than a proper storage area. Just let it go. _It’s not a big deal and this is no place to start an argument,_ she told herself. She adjusted her purse and reached inside. The extension charm she’d once used in her seventh year on her old pouch was now applied to the small, chained clutch. Old habits died hard and it was full of anything she might ever possibly need for another life on the run. Her fingers immediately found the exact sickles and knuts to pay for their beverages and she placed them on the bar. Ron frowned at the money.

  “You think I don’t have enough money to pay?” He asked in a dangerous tone. Not this again. As a matter of fact, Hermione was absolutely certain he didn’t have enough money for the drinks. She also knew he didn’t have enough money for the muggle crate he’d bought. It was difficult to make money when one rarely showed up to work. Luckily, it would take a lot more for George to fire his own brother.

  “I’m sorry, Ronald,” she said softly. “Would you like to pay?”

  “No,” he snapped. “You already put it out on the counter. Are you trying to make a scene?”

  They were _already_ making a scene. She pointedly ignored the eyes following them as they walked towards the exit and made their way into the midnight drizzle. She just wanted to hurry and get home. Pulling out her wand, she held her hand out to Ron and looked to him expectantly.

  “Oh, now you have to side-along apparate me too? Like I’m some ruddy, under-aged whelp? That’s how you see me, isn’t it?” he yelled.

  She was at a loss. Was everything she did wrong? A lump formed in her throat and she commanded herself not to cry. “I just – Ron, there are mandates against apparating while intoxicated. You could get splinched!”

  “Apparate yourself, then!” He pulled his wand from his robes and, wobbling on his feet, he disapparated with an audible pop.

  Hermione took a moment to rub her temples and take a few deep breaths, calming her nerves. She would be calm. She would not cry. She would go home, cook him is favorite dinner and they would have a nice remainder of their night. It was just the stupid alcohol talking. She tilted her head back, letting the soft rain cool her face, and tried to remember the last time they had been happy. There had been a time, hadn’t there? She slowly lifted her wand, focused on her destination and apparated.

  He was screaming.

  The house was dark and he sounded like he was in another room. “Ron? Ron!” she called through the darkness. “Lumos!” White light beamed from the tip of her wand and she looked franticly in the direction of his voice. Blood trailed the ground from where she stood to the basement door. Her heart feel into her stomach. Move, she told herself and she jolted forward and down the basement steps. “Where are you?” she called, waving her wand light around the piles of muggle rubbish. Her foot got caught in the power cord of a toaster and she balanced herself. She heard whimpering over to her right and spun, finding him crouched and holding a dirty t-shirt around a bloody hand. She rushed to his side and took his arm gently. “Let me see it,” she said softly.

  “No! I’ve got it! You’re not my bloody mother!” he snarled, turning away from her.

  Something in her head snapped and she was enraged. “That is it! Ronald, you’re holding a dirty shirt over a gaping wound! I know you’d like to think that’s going to work, but unless a festering hand and an amputation is what you want, I strongly suggest you get over yourself for one bloody minute and let me look at it. It’s sort of what I’m trained to handle.” She spat the words at him. Now was not the time to be tip-toeing around his feelings. He looked at her wide eyed, seemingly at a loss for words. She wrestled his arm over and he finally allowed her to remove the blood-soaked shirt. “Merlin’s beard…” she muttered. His left thumb was gone. She pointed her wand at her purse. “Accio wound-cleaning potion.” A purple vial floated out of her purse and zipped into her outstretched hand. She pulled out the cork, then paused. “I’m sorry, Ron, but this is going to hurt. But it will disinfect it so we can get it properly bandaged. Alright?” He made no attempt to acknowledge her and she took that as permission to continue. She poured the liquid over the bloody stump. It hissed and smoked. Ron bellowed and shoved her away from him hard. The side of her face and her shoulder slammed against an old refrigerator that was missing its doors. Items Ron had stacked inside on the shelves came crashing down on her. She pushed the junk off, flinching in pain.

  “You did that on purpose!” he hollered, holding his still smoking hand. “You like to cause me pain! To watch me suffer!”

  She touched her bruising cheek bone softly, brows furrowed at his words. “Ron,” she pleaded, trying to move her way out of the rubble. “It’s not like that! I had to clean it first, but it’s done! Now I can mend it. I’ll take you to St. Mungo’s if you want-“ she paused, looking down at one of the objects on the ground. Her mind couldn’t register what she was seeing for a moment. It was so out of place in her life. The life of a witch. The foreign object glinted in the light of her wand, mocking the rules of her new world as it sat heavily on the ground. Fear gripped her heart. It must have been in the refrigerator when she fell into it. “What is that?” she asked quietly, knowing full-well what it was and what it was used for.

  “Oh, something you finally don’t know?” he bent over and picked up the heavy-metal object in his uninjured hand, it’s single eye winking at her as he waved it back and forth. “Little Miss Know-It-All has never seen a gun before?”

  The word sounded wrong, almost alien, coming out of his mouth. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the offensive intruder of her home from his hands and break it. Throw it into the ocean. Get it as far away from her world as possible. It didn’t belong. “P-please, just put it back down.”

  “No!” He pointed it at her. “No, you listen to me for once!” His voice cracked, the alcohol and blood loss keeping him unsteady on his feet.

  Hermione slowly put her wand on the ground and stood. Something in her heart broke at having to use basic Auror negotiation tactics against her own fiancé, but she spoke the words anyway. “Okay,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t quiver. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

  “Y-you talk circles around me every time I do something you don’t approve of like you’re some big-shot. Like you’re so better than me because you still work at the Ministry. But I know you. I’ve known you forever. And you’re not shit. Without riding Harry’s coat tails, you wouldn’t have gotten to where you are now. Oh, but you just love to throw your fancy new cases in my face.” His eyes were widening as he became unhinged. The gun continued to watch her, silently goading him to pull the trigger.

  “That’s true,” she admitted calmly. “I just talk and nag and forget how that can make you feel. And knowing Harry really did shoe me in to the department. You’re completely right in feeling that way.”

  “You’re damn right I am! I’m the man here! Why couldn’t you just be more like Ginny? She stays home and takes care of Harry like a woman is supposed to! Why does he always get the life I can’t have?”

  “Ron,” she consoled, “You have so much that he doesn’t. You have your parents and-“

  “Stop proving me wrong all the time!” he shouted, the gun leveling out straight in front of him, the barrel even with her eyes. “You’re always talking against me! Always proving how stupid I am! That’s why they asked me to resign from the Auror’s Department!”

  Hermione knew this wasn’t the case. Ron had been unable to act under high intensity situations. Kingsley told him that it was a common result of people involved in the war and was nothing to be ashamed of. With proper counseling, he would have been welcome back on the team, but Ron had decided to give up instead. The ease of blaming everyone and everything around him was too tempting of an excuse to pass up.

  Hermione forced a small smile. “I’m so glad you’re finally telling me this. I feel like I’ve learned a lot. I’ve been a real sorry excuse for a wife to you.” She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. “Why don’t you put that away and you can tell me more up in the living room?”

  He looked at the gun and grinned. “This really scares you, doesn’t it?” He waved it back and forth. “Serves you right for being such a snarky bitch for so long. Knocked you down a few pegs, bet I did.”

  “You sure did,” Hermione agreed, her teeth grinding hard beneath her smile.

  “Well, you can stop worrying. Rusty thing’s broken anyway. Look,” he pointed it at her and pulled the trigger.

  She didn’t feel the pain. The deafening bang froze her thought process. Her right shoulder felt hot and tingled like she’d suddenly contracted a bad sun burn. Then she looked at it. Blood spread across her shirt. She dropped to the ground in a squat, holding her shoulder tightly to try and stop the bleeding.

  “Hermione?”

  She looked up at Ron who stood frozen, still holding the gun. A mix of rage and betrayal filled her. She snatched her wand, cringing at the dull ache of using her arm and apparated away.  
She appeared, still kneeling, on the tile floor of the St. Mungo’s waiting area. Breathing deeply, she caught the eyes of a mediwitch who dropped her clip board in alarm. Then, Hermione’s vision went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  It was hard thinking about what Ron had done. It was hard to admit it to herself that it all hadn’t been a freak nightmare. It was harder thinking of what it would be like to leave work and not go home to the house they’d shared for the last couple years and instead go to an empty apartment. But the hardest thing currently was having to sit so damn close to Thomas Yew on a muggle bus. It was cramped with early-morning commuters and they were lucky the squeeze into a space just wide enough for the two of them. She tried not to focus on where their thighs touched while looking across him and out the window. Even after reprimanding him earlier for his flirtations, innocent and vanilla as they truly did seem, she hated to admit that she was mildly attracted to him. She could smell a subtle hint of peppermint and leather from their close proximity and the guilt she felt at liking it crushed her heart. Only a few days away from Ron and her heart was fluttering over another man. She was disgusting. Perhaps that’s why she’d been so hard in trusting him. She made a note to go easier on her new partner in the future and not let her own insecurities color her attitude toward him.

  She eyed his outfit. Before leaving the Ministry, they both transfigured their robes into something more suitable for walking around Muggle London. His skills at transfiguration were, expectedly, on point. What she wasn’t expecting was for him to be in a suit that looked like a prop from an old black and white film. The slacks were high wasted and baggy and she could almost swear she’d seen his tie in her grandfather’s collection. Hermione hardly was one to care about fashion, but even this was too much for her. She had him remove his tie and blazer, then transfigured his pants to a more modern cut.

  “I suppose my parents were a bit old fashioned,” he’d smiled when she finished her work on him and began transfiguring her own robes. Using her left hand for the task was easier than working most spells, since it didn’t require quite as much wand waving as it did imagination and intent.

  “A bit is right,” she agreed. She finished up and stood in form-fitted black pants and a boat-necked white blouse. He looked at her with a small frown of disapproval. “What?” she asked.

  He blinked and shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, tell me, did I get something wrong?” she turned her head around, checking her work.

  “No, it’s fine, I just thought you would choose something more appropriate for a lady.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Like a dress?” He nodded. “With lacey fringe and a great big bow on my back?”

  “You’re having a go at me,” his eyes darkened.

  She laughed. “You really were home-schooled. For the record, you won’t catch me dead in a dress. Or heals, for that matter.”

  “And why is that?”

  Hermione admired her sneakers. “I don’t wear anything that I can’t run in.”

  Back in the bus, Hermione watched the grey scenery fly by the window. The cloudy weather seemed to fit the look of the small town they were passing through. Weathered power lines and large trees stood as age markers. Small stores stood vacant and construction seemed halted in certain areas. She guessed it might have been livelier thirty or forty years ago.

  Thinking back to her mental map of the town, she estimated they would exit the next stop. As the bus began to slow, she stood, thankful to no longer be stuck to Thomas’ hip. They got off the bus and Hermione looked at the street signs to gain her bearings.

  “A block and a half to the right, second house on the left,” Thomas said, his arm brushing against hers as he passed, leading the way. She pursed her lips and followed him down the short path through the small neighborhood. The house they stopped at was completely covered in weeds and strange looking plants. The narrow path to the front door was barely visible. Thomas motioned for her to go ahead of him.  
“How much do you want to bet that half these plants are in violation of the international statute of wizarding secrecy?” she asked while stepping over what looked like wild mandrake stalks. Neville would have loved this case.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he agreed. They got to the door and Hermione knocked three times, paint chipping under her knuckles as she did so.

  “Comiiiiiiing,” a sing-song voice from inside chimed. The door opened and a heavy-set woman in her forties smiled broadly at them. Her pale skin looked almost ashen and her neutral hair sat flat on her head. She shoved a trey of chocolate blobs in their faces. “I made these just for your visit to show how much I appreciate you coming all the way out here. Take as many as you want!”

  Hermione eyed the sweets awkwardly. They looked like they were pure, hardened sugar that had melted and hardened into the strange shapes before her. She tried not to gag at the sickly-sweet aroma assaulting her nostrils and declined them with a smile. Thomas shook his head as well. “No thank you, ma’am.”

  Miss Maryweather Hornsley’s looked appauled and her hands began the tremble slightly. “But, I made them for you.”

  Hermione blanched, not wanting to offend her. “I’m sorry, I’m sure they’re wonderful, but I just don’t like sweet things.”

  The woman’s thin eyebrow shot up, wrinkling the skin on her forehead. “Well, what’s wrong with you? Who doesn’t like sweet things?” she spat.

  Hermione cocked her head and was about to tell the woman where she could stick her chocolates when Thomas placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “We came here on official business, but I can appreciate your attempt to brighten our day. Why don’t we get all the unpleasantness out of the way first, then enjoy your chocolates? I would like to leave here with a sweet taste in my mouth.”

  Maryweather flustered and blushed. “Oh my! Well, you can take them all with you when you leave!” she gushed, clearly smitten with the thick charm he buttered her with. She gazed into his perfect smile, then turned back to Hermione. “I’m glad that at least someone will enjoy them.” Hermione was suddenly glad of Thomas’ presence. She wasn’t sure if she cared much about finding her cat. The woman made way for them to step inside and a new smell smacked them in the face. Hermione waited for Maryweather to walk ahead of them before looking at Thomas.

  “Cat piss,” she whispered.

  His eyes widened. “Do we have to take every case we get assigned?”

  “Well, at least she likes you!”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a point in my favor.”

  “Come along, you two! Come and meet the family.” She called from the living area. The “family” consisted of five cats, all extremely overweight and slow moving. Two seemed permanently glued to her couch and watched them through half lidded green eyes. The other three were lazily rubbing against Maryweather’s legs. Pottery acted as small tombs for a variety of dead plants scattered on every available shelf space. The light carpet was stained with a variety of yellowish brown spots and Hermione wasn’t in a hurry to try and identify. She walked around to the cat’s food bowls and reached down to pick up the remains of what looked like a wrapper from the popular fast food chain, Five Guys.

  “Miss Hornsley, do you feed your cats fast food?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact I do and there’s nothing wrong with feeding them a burger or two a day. I used to be a veterinary assistant, so I know. If it’s good enough for me to eat, it’s good enough for my babies.”

  Hermione was struck dumb. “You’re joking.”

  Thomas cut in quickly. “When was the last time you saw your familiar, Miss Hornsley?”

  She snapped her head back to him and grabbed his arm as if in sudden anguish. “Just two nights ago! I was feeding them their nightly snack of shredded cheese and brought them all upstairs for bed. They all have to sleep in the same room as their Mum or they get so scared.” Thomas patted her hand on his arm consolingly, but Hermione didn’t miss him taking a small step to put a bit of space between them. “I woke up the next morning and Mr. Gary-Cat was gone!

  “Was that more or less how the other two went missing as well?” Hermione asked.

  “Yes, three in three months.” She put her hand over her chest. “I just can’t take this stress anymore. I had to contact someone.”

  “May we examine the bedroom?” asked Thomas.

  “Yes! In fact, I have my own theory about what happened that I can show you up there.” She waddled up the stairs and they both followed, stepping over the slow-moving cats that swerved through their path. The fowl stench of cat droppings was at its thickest in the bedroom. Had she just spent so much time in the house that she couldn’t smell it anymore? Hermione wondered. “I found Gary-Cat’s collar right here by the window the next morning,” she stated triumphantly, taking a small red collar from her dresser and placing it on the ground. The large window overlooked the front yard’s garden, which didn’t look much better from the higher vantage point. On the window sill sat a strange popped plant. Unlike all the shriveled plants downstairs, this one seemed healthy. Three long curving stems stood tall with a single large bud on top. A scaly pattern indented the stems. They weren’t colorful, but their shape had a certain elegance. Hermione frowned at them. Where had she seen them before?

  “I’m quite sure someone came in through my bedroom window and stole my cats. They left the collar here to mock me!”

  Hermione sighed. “Miss Hornsley, who would want your cats?”

  The woman huffed. “Well, I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

  “What I mean is, do you know anyone who would either want your cats or perhaps want to hurt you in any way? Do you have any enemies?”

  Her eyes flashed. “The maintenance man would. I saw him last time I called them to fix the plumbing eyeing my cats weird. Like he might just snatch one up.”

  Hermione nodded, not fully convinced. “Can you think of anyone else?”

  “Miss Hornsley, your cats were not stolen.”

  Both women turned to Thomas who was stroking the potted plant with his curved finger. “How long have you had this plant?” Hermione frowned and stepped toward the plant to get a better look.

  “I bought it from a vender on Diagon Alley about four months ago. He kept selling me plants that died, so I demanded something sturdier that he hadn’t sabotaged. He gave me this.”

  “And you properly feed it?”

  “Water and sunlight twice a day,” she said proudly. “But what has this got to do with-“

  “You have no idea what this plant is, do you?” He gripped the stem and slowly began to squeeze. The flower bud shot open and the long neck of a snake shot out, its mouth opened wide revealing two long, dripping fangs.

  Hermione gasped. “They’re Cobra Lillies!” She turned to Maryweather. “Miss Hornsley, you can’t feed Cobra Lillies just water and sunlight. They require small animals like field mice. You starved them and they… they ate your cats.” She looked at the collar on the ground. “They only digest organic substances, so they would have regurgitated the collars.”

  Thomas released the plant and it wilted over the side of the pot. “Normally, felines have quick enough reflexes to avoid becoming prey to something like a carnivorous plant, but you have raised your cats to be lazy, fat and slow. They’re diet made them easy targets.”

  Miss Maryweather’s mouth hung open. “A-are you suggesting that I’m responsible for this?”

  Thomas looked at Hermione. “Miss Granger, what are your thoughts?”

  She couldn’t help but sympathize with the poor woman standing before her. Her love, misguided as it was, had ultimately killed her familiars. “Miss Hornsley, I’m so sorry-“

  “Get out of my house,” she said, hands balled into fists.

  Hermione bit her lip and looked at the Cobra Lillies, two still holding themselves high in their dormant state while the other sagged dead. Had Thomas really needed to kill it? “We can have someone from the Ministry come remove the plant it you wish.”

  “I said get out of my house!” The woman lunged at Hermione. Thomas’ wand was out in an instant, but Hermione’s reflexes were accustomed to being attacked head on. She grabbed Maryweather’s wrist and, using her forward momentum against her, twisted her around and threw her to the ground. Luckily, lacking the fine motor skills for spell casting held no sway over her self defense training. She leaned down to her ear. “I’m sorry about your cats, ma’am, but take a good look around you. This was no one’s fault but your own. I’ll send our people to collect the Lillies and any other plants in violation for being in such close proximity to muggles.” She straightened up and glanced at Thomas who watched her with a strange look on his face. They left the room in silence, leaving Maryweather Hornsley grieving on the floor. Once back in the living room, Hermione sighed. “Brunch?” she asked him wearily. “I’m not sure if we’ll have time to eat once we get to the murder scene.”

  Thomas’ mouth quirked and he offered his elbow to her. “I know just the place.” She took it and felt the familiar tug in her abdomen common with apparating. They appeared in front of a small café. The smell of pastries and coffee brewing immediately relaxed the tension in her shoulders. Lilly Dove’s Café was nestled down a small street off of Diagon Alley that she’d never traveled. She slid her hand from his arm and they walked into the café. Once they took their seat and made their orders, Thomas lifted his elbow onto the edge of the table and rested his chin in his hand, absent-mindedly watching people as they passed by the window. Hermione took that moment to study him. “I’ve never even heard of this place before. Do you come here often?”

  His eyes slid to her and he shrugged. “It’s an occasional pleasure of mine. I enjoy the coffee and the establishment doesn’t generate too much traffic.” He smiled coyly. “I read your translations of The Tales of Beedle the Bard here. It was quite the charming read.”

  “I didn’t take you for a fan of fairy tales.”

  “Under my usual circumstances, I’m not. But I grew up mostly hearing my father’s muggle tales and folk lore. Wizard fairy tales were surprisingly refreshing. I especially liked your telling of The Three Brothers.”  
Hermione schooled her features to remain steady. “And here I thought you would have preferred Babbity Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump.”

  He chuckled. It was a low sound that vibrated the table. “Over a story about cheating Death himself? Hardly. Tell me, I can’t help but wonder. Do you believe these stories have a significant origin?” He watched her carefully. “Muggle fairy tales all seemed to have some sort of basis on actual events. I wouldn’t doubt the same would be true of your little book of transcribed tales.”

  “I suppose so,” she said nonchalantly. “But usually, the stories are fabrications designed to teach a lesson. I hardly think the moral of the story is that it’s possible to cheat death. All three brothers did die in the end, after all.” She gaged his reaction out of the corner of her eye while watching their waitress approach with their food. He couldn’t possible know about the Deathly Hollows. Even if he suspected any truth to the story, the Resurrection Stone was lost and the Elder Wand was buried six feet underground with the corpse of Albus Dumbledore.

  Coffee and food were set before them and Hermione admired her egg toast. “This smells delicious,” she exclaimed, thankful for the distraction from the conversation. “While we eat, why don’t I brief you on the case as much as I can before we get to the murder scene.” She took a quick bite of her toast and Thomas leaned back, sipping his coffee. “The murders began a little over a year ago. There have been twenty four total to date, each one following the same modus operandi. The victims are all married couples who just had a male child. The killer or killers take them by surprise in their homes usually right before they’re about to go to bed. The first few murders were carried out with a simple killing curse to the back. After a while, though, we began seeing signs of torture. For some reason, the torture inflicted on the wife is sometimes worse than that used on the husband. We aren’t sure why that is, but I’m leaning toward multiple killers. Perhaps one of them has an issue with women or with his mother. It’s not uncommon for psycho paths to have suppressed mommy-issues.” She brought her coffee to her lips, missing the white knuckled grip Thomas had around his knife as he cut into his omelet. “The final note of interest is the way the baby is left. None of them were killed. Instead, the killers leave them all in their crib unharmed save for a carved lightning shaped cut in their foreheads. I believe this to be a direct challenge against Harry.”  
Thomas nodded, his face neutral. “I’ve heard his wife is expecting a child soon. A son.”

  Hermione bit her lip. “There’s no doubt in my mind that Harry and his family are the end game here. We have to catch these guys before Ginny Potter has her baby.”

  “How much time does that give us?”

  She frowned. “Two more months.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  Thomas apparated them within the wards surrounding the small one-story home that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth. The front door was wide open, welcoming them to the horrors within. A small sign hung over the door frame that read “Welcome to our Home.” Pictures of bumblebees and butterflies smiled brightly. Hermione thought of those same faces smiling down on the killer before he entered the house. They stepped through the door. It looked like there had been a massacre. Furniture was flipped and pushed up along the walls leaving a wide open space. In the center of the room tied to one of the dining room chairs sat the dead body of Mr. Wentworth. The chair was faced away from them. Blood pooled around the legs of the chair and seemed to be smeared across the wooden floor. Hermione held her breath before stepping further. There wasn’t any smell of decay in the air; the preservation charms on the bodies would have stopped the decaying process until the Ministry was ready to release them to their families for burial. It wasn’t even a real smell that bothered her. It was the this feeling of dark magic hanging stagnant in the room. Breathing it in felt too much like allowing it into her very being. She chided herself for her unwarranted superstition. It’s not like she could just not breath the whole time.

  “That symbol,” Thomas said, looking at the blood on the floor. It took Hermione a few seconds to see what he was talking about. There was a purpose to how the blood was smeared on the ground. She stepped towards the table in the corner of the room and hoisted herself on top of it to get a better view. “What is it?” she wondered aloud. She pulled out her notepad and pen. As the pen tip hit the paper, an uneven line of squiggles formed in her shaky grasp. She bit her lip and pressed harder onto the page in hopes of controlling the movement.

  “Mr. Granger?” She looked down at Thomas, not able to mask her frustration. “I find it necessary to point out a small obstacle in our situation. I believe doing so will make both of our jobs more productive.”  
She closed her eyes slowly and sighed, defeated. “And what might that obstacle be, Thomas?”

  “Your efforts to hide it are commendable, but I would be a poor choice for a partner if I couldn’t tell you have issues with your right arm.” He held his hand out to help her down. “I also don’t have to stand on a table to see and sketch the symbol.” His grin curled his lips to the right. She took his hand and he helped her off the table. He placed his hand on her shoulder firmly and stepped close, looking down at her with concern. “I understand why it’s important to you that no one finds out, but you can trust that I’ll keep your secret if it means keeping you on the case. We’re partners, after all.”

  Hermione gulped. He was so close. She knew he was only trying to reassure her, but his proximity was almost intimate. She tried to step backwards, but found her path away from his body heat blocked by the table he’d helped her down from. His dark-eyed gaze pierced hers and she self consciously looked down at his chest. “I-you’re right. I haven’t been honest about my situation,” she fumbled. She touched her shoulder just beneath where his hand rested. “I was injured. There are some complications, but I’m-“ he hand slowly pulled the sleeve of her shirt down her shoulder. Shocked at his audacity, she couldn’t move. “I’m doing physical therapy…” It came out as a whisper. He looked at the gathering of scar tissue, eyes narrowing back to her face.

  “What kind of weapon did this?” He almost sounded reprimanding. “This wasn’t done by a spell.”

  Feeling ashamed and more than a little embarrassed, she pulled her shirt back over her shoulder. “Well, good eye. I’ll make an Auror out of you yet,” she said defensively, then pushed her way around him.

  “Can you cast any spells at all?”

  “Just some basic transfigurations. Look, now is not really the time or place to delve into my personal problems.”

  A tense silence formed between them before Thomas relented. “This discussion will continue once we’re done here.”

  She eyed him. His commanding tone unnerved her, but he deserved to know the limitations and burdens her handicap would be putting on him. She sighed. “Alright.”

  Thomas took out his own notepad and began drawing the symbol painted on the floor. Hermione slowly walked towards the body of the husband. The magical preservations spells were truly wonderful. The blood on the ground hadn’t even turned a complete shade of dried brown yet. She stepped carefully over the markings and around the chair to face him. Clenching her fists together at the sight, she took a breath. “The killer or killers have become increasingly malicious with each murder, as I told you before. The first few showed no signs of torture, but after that there seemed to be a level of comfort established. We began to find couples missing finger nails and some cut with what we presumed to be a knife. The last two murders were missing their eyes. But this is a new level.” Thomas walked over and stood beside her. “He’s been disemboweled.”

  Mr. Wentworth sat with his head thrown backwards and his mouth hanging open as if silently screaming to the heavens for mercy. A long, vertical cut ran down from his chest to his groin opening his stomach for its contents to spill down his lap and onto the floor.

  “Why go this far?” Hermione thought outloud.

  “Curiosity,” Thomas said. “He’s beginning to enjoy it. Whatever his purpose had initially been, he’s found he enjoys inflicting pain. He’s becoming creative.”

  Hermione leaned down to examine the rest of his body. Aside from where his skin cut along his bindings, there didn’t seem to be any other injuries. “I’ll have his body examined closer at St. Mungo’s. Do you recognize the symbol?”

  Thomas handed her his notepad. “Not exactly, but something about it is familiar.”

  “Yes,” Hermione agreed, struggling to recall where she’d seen something similar to it. “I’ll go through personal library tonight and see if I can’t track it down. Let’s move on to the wife.”  
“Where is she?”

  Hermione turned her head toward the stairs at the end of the room. “In the nursery.” As they made their way up the steps, Hermione noted the couple’s pictures along the walls. They seemed like a happy, adventurous couple. In one picture, they swam through coral reefs with mermaids. Another picture showed them hand-in-hand standing before the great pyramids. The wind was throwing Mrs. Wentworth’s long curly hair into her face and they were both laughing. “The wife has always either been killed or placed in the nursery by the time we find them. This is intended to mirror the murder of the Potters. Remember, the wounds are usually the same if not worse than that of the husbands, to prepare yourself.”

  They walked through the nursery doors and Hermione noted the bloody dark mark painted on the wall above the crib. “This has always been the signature mark of the killer,” she said, looking around the room for the wife’s body. “The blood of the wife has always been used to sketch it. It’s a direct Voldemort reference. The killer’s either claiming the kill in the name of Voldemort or fashioning himself as the next Dark Lord.”

  “The body isn’t here.”

  Hermione faltered. “I… huh,” She checked the closet and the crib. “I don’t even see signs of a struggle.”

  "We should check other rooms.” Thomas turned and walked back out into the hallway.

  “Yes, but…” Hermione frowned. Why change the pattern now? The baby had been found and was currently having the scar on his forehead mended before being sent to relatives. The father was found in the living room. Gruesome as his death was, it still fit the pattern. What about the wife made him change it?”

  “Ms. Granger,” Thomas called. She spun and darted from the nursery. Down the hall was another room. Thomas stood just inside of the door frame. She stopped by him and gasped. Laying on the bed was the body of Mrs. Wentworth. She was naked and her throat was cut, soaking the mattress in red. Her messy curls were splayed wildly across the pillows and her pale limbs showed dark bruises from where she had been held down.

  “No,” Hermione whispered. “She was raped? Maybe this is a different killer?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But why would he do this now? None of the past murders showed any sign of sexual motivation,” she argued. “They were all aimed at Harry!”

  “What if this was aimed at someone close to Harry?” She felt a small tug on her hair and turned to watch as Thomas wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “She looks like you, Hermione.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the Tomione 2018 contest is over, I can finally say hello! Thank you everyone who read and reviewed the last 3 chapters. This is my first real attempt at a fanfiction, so all your words of support mean a lot. This story has taken over my life, so I apologize in advance if chapters take me a while. I really want to make sure I get it everything just right before I post. Also! Be on the look out for fanart posted here and there within the story! I've only got a cover page drawn up so far, but I plan to insert scenes from the story every once in a while.
> 
> Now, on with chapter 4.

Chapter 4

  After another hour of searching through the house for any possible clue left behind by the murderer, Hermione and Tom returned to their office to write up their report.  For the most part, Hermione dictated while he wrote everything out.  They both picked through older murders trying to see something new.  Finally, she huffed in annoyance and slammed the case file shut.

  “I’m nowhere closer to catching them than I was after the first bloody murder.”

  Tom stopped writing and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.  “What makes you so sure there’s more than one culprit?  The profile you built suggests someone who would want to carry out these acts alone.”

  Hermione rubbed her temples.  “I _wish_ I was ‘so sure’, but it’s honestly just a gut feeling.”  She opened the case file again and pulled out a thin blue folder tucked in the back.  “These are the Daily Prophets from the mornings following each murder.  If you look past the article about the murder itself and focus on the more petty crimes, you’ll notice an abnormally large amount of incidents all happening within an hour of the murder.”  She pointed to articles.  “Thefts, break-ins and muggings were reported all across wizarding London, but not only did we never catch anyone, we could never get a single description outside of “It was dark and he was wearing a cloak.”

  “Is there any correlation between the victims of the petty crimes?” Tom asked, watching her amusedly and she bit into the back of her pencil.

  “None whatsoever.  It’s like they were just trying to spread us all thin.”  She flipped to a different date and pointed to another article. 

  “Every,”

_flip_

  “single,”

_flip_

  “time.”

  Thomas reached for the Daily Prophet from two mornings prior.  “Have you checked to see if your theory matches with the latest murder?  That hardly sounds like a coincidence.”

  She shook her head.  “Not yet.”  She continued gnawing on her pencil while listening to him turn the pages.  He stopped to read something and she tensed.  “Anything?”

  “Perhaps,” he said, still reading.  “Who are the Pauci Electi?”

  Her head shot up.  “What?”

  “Pauci Electi.  I believe it translates to-“

  “Chosen Few,” Hermione finished.  “Never heard of them.  What did they do?”

  “They seem to be acting under the impression that Voldemort is still alive.  They were protesting on the night of the murder demanding to know the whereabouts of the children left behind by the murderer.  They think they are chosen-one potentials and need to be raised in the light to defeat him.”

  Hermione jumped out of her seat and rounded the desk to Thomas, reading over his shoulder.  “This has got to be them.  Does it say who any of them are?”

  Thomas closed the Prophet and handed it to her.  “No, but they usually meet up at old crime scenes.”

  She rubbed her chin in thought.  “They’re a group, they’re organized, and they’re involved in the case.  But I’m not sure if they’re involved in the murders.”

  “If they were, what exactly would be their motive to kill?”

  “I don’t know, maybe they’re trying to create another chosen one; reenacting the exact events of the Potter murders to try and make it happen again.”

  “But Voldemort didn’t carve a lightning bolt into Harry’s head.  He tried to kill him and it backfired onto himself, almost killing him on the spot.  And if they’re so bent on getting ahold of the babies to raise them in the light, why wouldn’t they just take them after killing the parents?”

  She rubbed her eyes tiredly.  “Well, that’s another dead end.”  She knew there was no point grasping at straws.  The profile she’d painstakingly built detailed a man with idol worship centered around Voldemort and his teachings.  Not a group of Harry fanatics.  “Also, a group of wizards devoted to the light wouldn’t be trying out dark blood magic.”

  A soft tap sounded at their office door.  They both turned to see Clarence Clearwater shuffle inside pushing his cart in front of him.  He smiled bashfully.  “Afternoon, Hermione.  Two letters came in for you while you were out.  I thought you would want to see them before you left for the day.”

  “Thank you, Clarence.  I hadn’t realized how late it already was.”  He kept his eyes to the ground and with stiff shoulders placed the letters in her outreached hand.  Hermione wondered absently why he never seemed able to look her in the eye.

  He stood fidgeting with his thumb nails.  “You usually forget and stay later than anyone else.  I-I don’t mind letting you know when it’s getting late if you’d like-“

  Hermione waved her hand.  “Oh, I couldn’t put you out like that.  There’s no need for you to worry yourself over my clumsy timekeeping.  I’m sure Thomas here will let me know when I’ve kept him long enough anyway.”

  Clarence glanced at Tom, his smile faltering.  Tom smirked.  “I’ll do my best to get her home before curfew.”

  The scrawny man laughed nervously and stared down at the ground.  “Alright, well- see you tomorrow then, Hermione.”

  “Bye,” Hermione called distractedly as she began unrolling one of the letters.

  Tom waited for Clarence to leave, then eyed the girlish penmanship scrawled across the parchment in her hand.  She had unceremoniously tossed a second letter to the side of her desk.  “Whose letter could possibly be distracting you from the bumbling charms of poor Clarence?”  

  She lowered the parchment to frown at him.  “Excuse me?”

  “That man is head-over-heals for you.  Surely you’re aware of this.”

  “That’s preposterous,” she dismissed him and continued reading, a small grin pulling at the side of her lips.  The letter was from her friend Luna.  The young woman had taken her father’s position as writer and editor for The Quibbler and was always bouncing from one country to another in search of rare or, in Hermione’s opinion, fictional magical creatures.  She occasionally dipped her toe in political issues, but only when she felt other publications weren’t fulfilling their duty to report the unbiased truth.  She was about to take a trip to Germany and wanted to meet before she left.  Hermione hoped it wasn’t to talk about the ‘Ron situation.’  She glanced back to Tom.  “I’m meeting with an old friend after work,” she said, then hesitantly bit her lip.  “Would you mind writing my response?”

  “Of course,” he said reaching for his quill and a clean parchment.  “What should it say?”

  “Just say that I’ll meet her at Bacchus’ Brew around seven.”

  He wrote her short reply, then flipped it over to write along the back.  “And who is it being made out to?”

  “Luna Lovegood.” 

  The quill scratched the name across the page, then paused.  “The journalist?”

  Hermione chuckled.  “I’m sure she’d love to know that you think so.  And yes.  She writes for the only tabloid I enjoy reading anymore.”

  He looked at her in interest.  “I read it as well.  There is a surprising amount of credibility to her claims.  And her topics are certainly… refreshing.”  He waved his wand over her letter once.  It floated off the desk then began folding itself in midair.  Once it took the form of a paper airplane, it zipped out the small hole above their office door.  It would find its way to Penelope Clearwater who would send it off with a Ministry owl.  Tom set his quill back on its stand and stood.  “I suppose that doesn’t give us much time, then.”

  She watched him confusedly as he walked around their desks towards her.  “Much time for what?”  She gasped when he bent down and placed his hands on her arm rests.  She pushed back against her seat, putting distance between their faces.

  “You still owe me an explanation,” he said silkily, eyes flicking to her shoulder before returning to hold her gaze.

  She looked away from his dark eyes, the heavy sensation of being cornered spilling over her.  “Look, it’s personal.  Is it not enough to just know that I’m dealing with a _temporary_ handicap?”

  “Does it look like that’s enough for me?”

  She turned back to him.  His eyes narrowed into hers.

  Her thoughts began to jumble together and a headache exploded between her ears.

_Her shoulder hurt so bad and there was blood everywhere and her vision was getting dark…_

_Dark hair, dark eyes….he smelled like parchment and sandalwood…_

_It smelled like sanitizer all around her as the medi-witch said she’d never have full motion of her wand arm…_

_Ginny grabbed her arm and hollered to the whole room that she going to have a baby.  She laughed so hard tears began to spring from her eyes…_

_Tears stained her pillow.  They had another fight and Ron wouldn’t come home…_

_Her first kiss with Ron.  It had been wet and clumsy…_

_Thomas’ lips were curling into a smirk.  Would his kiss be clumsy too?_

_The echoing of a gunshot and the smell of alcohol…_

_She’s graduating her final year of Hogwarts…_

_Explosions and falling debris…_

_Screams and falling bodies…_

_The snake-eyed gaze of a mad man…_

  “N-no!” she shrieked and without realizing what her body was doing, she punched Tom across the face.  He took a step away from her and touched his cheek.  A small cut formed under his eye, yet he smiled triumphantly. 

  She clenched her eyes shut.  “I’m- I didn’t mean to, but _Legilimency?  Really?_   You _read my mind?”_

  “You wouldn’t have told me the truth if I hadn’t.”

  “You don’t get to decide that!  And, even so, you have no right to just invade my memories!”

  Tom looked down at her like she were missing some huge point.  “Hermione-“

  “That’s _Miss Granger_.”

  He scoffed.  “You, a high level ministry Auror, were attacked and yet you never reported it.  That goes against a number of regulation.  So, I assumed you must be covering for someone.  Someone important.  Someone who, until very recently, was a big part of your life.”

  “Stop…” she muttered.

  He cocked his head to the side.  “Your loyalty to him is admirable.  And so tediously Gryffindor.  I will respect your wish to protect him, but you will not keep secrets from me.”  He touched her chin so she would meet his gaze once more.  “We are not only partners, Hermione, but I’m keeping your secrets.  I shouldn’t _have_ to use Legilimency.”

  “You,” she rose from her seat, “will _never_ do that to me again.”

  He took a step towards her and she almost fell back into her chair.  He smiled, then reached out to cup her cheek.  “You should be more thankful.  Now that I know what caused your injury, I know the perfect place to find a way to fix it.”

  She froze in shock.  She had drained her book collection dry, had the best medi witches and wizards tell her there was nothing to be done and even had Minerva check the Hogwarts library’s restricted section for something that might help.  What could he possibly have access to that she hadn’t already-“ Her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

  He smiled widely.  “There, I knew you’d figure it out.”  He brushed her cheek bone with the pad of his thumb.

  “The Malfoy Library,” she whispered.

  “One of the best known collections of rare and, quite possibly, illegal literature.  Do try to contain your excitement.”

  She hadn’t realized her mouth was hanging open.  He stepped away and walked to the coat rack by the door.  “I will speak with my benefactor on your behalf,” he said conversationally while slipping into his coat.

  Hermione shook her head trying not to get her hopes up.  “Lucius Malfoy will never volunteer his private collection for a mud- for me,” she chided herself for almost saying _that word_.  She scratched at the scars along her arm where the word _mudblood_ was forever etched into her skin.  The sight of it was a constant reminder of her inferior birth and her torment every morning.  Luckily, she was still able to manage a topical potion to glamor it away.

  “I think you’ll find Lucius has taken quite a shine to me.  I’m sure he’d be willing to look past matters from his darker days in light of your current predicament.  Leave him to me.”  He pulled his notepad from inside his robes and flipped it open.  Turning it towards her, he displayed the strange symbol that had been painted on the floor around the husband’s body.  “We might also find a clue as to what exactly this means.”

  Hermione tried to balance her anxiety of returning to the scene of her torture against the mountain of knowledge she would have at her fingertips.  It would be worth it if she found something useful.  She nodded her head.

  He reached for the door knob, then turned as if in afterthought.  “By the way, I wouldn’t be clumsy.”

  She frowned at him, baffled.  “What?”

  “You had been wondering how I would compare to your last kiss.”  He pointed to his head and Hermione’s face flared up.  Static sparked through her hair and Tom grinned in amusement before opening the door and taking his leave.

  “Loathsome, egotistical, invasive, manipulative…” she muttered through clenched teeth.  _Intelligent, suave, confident, handsome…_ she smacked the side of her head.  It wouldn’t do to think of him in such a way.  Not only were they coworkers, but she couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut that he couldn’t be trusted.

  She began returning documents to their case file when she noticed the second letter she had tossed aside.  It was from Ron.  His penmanship was unmistakable.   Knowing she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to entertain his message, she left it alone and departed to meet with Luna.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  Tom had considered the idea of tailing the girl to her flat, but he didn’t have the time to wait around for her to finish meeting with her friend.  Besides, if he had deduced anything at all from her, it was that she had a practical mind.  She would be living close to work, despite the floo network.  Walking distance, most likely.  Her injury could not have come about at a more fortunate time.  Her warding capabilities being hindered would leave her at the mercy of muggle locking mechanisms.  Unless, of course, he offered his help in setting the wards up, which would still allow him to enter unhindered. 

  “Here we are, sir.  Vault 749.”  The long-nosed goblin opened the cart door.  “Mind your step, now.  And be quick about your business.  Security breaches caused the bank to enforce mandatory time restraints on all of our clients.”  The goblin gave Tom a nasty sneer.  “That includes supposed long-lost nephews.”

  Tom ignored the doubt cast against him.  Goblins were quite keen, but had no interest in the politics or plots of wizards.  “What sort of security breaches?  Am I to understand that the impenetrable Gringotts Bank was broken into?”

  “It was a few years ago, but we’ve yet to find a replacement for our old security system.  Someone in the Ministry charged us with magical animal cruelty.”

  “Ah, so the rumors of there being a dragon down here were correct after all?”  Tom pulled the vault key from his robes.

  “Used to be correct.  Until that Potter boy and his two friends stole it. 

  Tom paused before putting the key into its lock.  “Was Hermione Granger apart of that little fiasco?”

  The goblin crossed his calloused arms.  “Sure was.  It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she’s also the reason we can’t get another dragon.”

  Tom smiled, shaking his head, and pushed the key into the vault.  “Hermione Granger, how delightful you’re turning out to be.”  The vault doors creaked along their hinges and slowly swung open.  Inside was a black leather wingback chair and a small glass side table atop which sat three items.  Tom walked inside and took a pouch from the table.  The sound of many galleons clinked as he dropped them into his robe’s pocket.  He eyed the other two items before turning back around to leave. 

  “All this security,” the goblin commented, “for a diary and a ring?”

  Tom stepped into the cart.  “Yes, I know.”  He looked down his nose at the goblin.  “It really isn’t enough without the dragon.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  Hermione spotted her friend in the far corner of the bar lounge eating out of a large glass filled with different colored scoops of ice cream.  In all her years of knowing Luna, she never drank liquor outside of the occasional butterbeer.  Harry and Ron usually chastised her for it, but Hermione found her to be interesting enough sober and didn’t care to find out how she would be with lowered inhibitions.  She strode towards the pale blonde-haired creature and smiled at the traditional lederhosen and blouse combo she wore with a beistle hat.  Although it was grossly out of place in modern Germany, Luna prided herself on fitting in with traditional attire wherever she traveled. 

  Luna blue eyes sparkled as Hermione took a seat across from her.  “Hermione,” she said in her sing-song voice. “I’m so glad you could make it on a work night.”

  “Well, I couldn’t miss you before you leave on another trip around the world.”

  “Oh, I’ll hardly be that far away this time.”  She glanced at a waiter walked their way.  “Would you like something to eat or drink?  It’s on me since I invited you.”

  “Sure, thanks.  Merlot and cucumber bites are fine.”

  Luna nodded and placed the order.  Then, delicately leaning her chin atop her hands, she asked quietly, “Ron has done something quite unforgivable, hasn’t he.”  It wasn’t a question.  She knew.  Luna always knew.  “We don’t have to talk about it.  I just want to stress the fact once more; Germany is not that far away.  You can contact me if you need anything.”

  Hermione held back the grateful tears that threatened to leak down her cheeks and nodded silently.  Feeling like an emotional wreck after Thomas’ legilimency, she hurriedly returned the conversational topic back to Luna’s trip.  “So, what are you on the hunt for this time?”

  Luna tapped her nose thoughtfully.  “I suppose I could tell you.  It would ruin the surprise of waiting for my article, though.”

  “You know I can’t pass up getting the inside scoop.  Besides, I’d read your article whether or not I already knew what it was about.”

  Luna leaned in conspiratorially.  “Alright then, if you must know,” her voice came out in a whisper, “I’m looking for a kobold.”  Taking in Hermione’s blank look, she continued.  “They’re the reason most people end up missing one sock out of most of their pairs.  They’re oddly attracted to dirty laundry, you see.  Most take residence in the houses of muggles who can’t detect them without magic, but I believe I’ve tracked them down to where they are indigineous.  The Black Forest of Germany.  It’s home to many wondrous creatures, so who knows what else I might stumble upon!”  She scooped up a mint green spoonful of ice cream and popped it in her mouth.

  “Luna, that sounds wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed as her glass of wine and side dish were set on her table.  “Will you be spending most of your nights in the forest?”

  “Yes, and I’ve packed all necessary provisions; nargle repellent, a map pointing out all known water sources, hiking boots, a compass, and plenty of that delightful trail mix you taught me to make.”

  “You must write to me.” Hermione grinned.

  “Of course, each time I make it back into town, I’ll send word of any progress.  You know, you _could_ come with me, if you were so inclined.  I would love the company.”

  Hermione smiled, but shook her head.  “Maybe once we catch this murderer.  As it is, I can’t leave Harry to his devices right now and I’m the only one standing between him and taking over the case.  He and his family are too much of a target.”

  “Do you think Voldemort is back?”  Luna asked?

  Hermione couldn’t explain why the question coming from her seemed to give her pause to reconsider her usual answer.  “He _can’t_ be.  We destroyed every possible means he had to resurrect.  If he’s actually back…” she took a long drink from her wine glass and sighed.  “We’re in a lot of trouble.”

~*~*~**~*~*~~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  The rest of the evening passed amicably.  Hermione listed various German foods Luna should try while she was abroad and requested she bottle any useful plants she came across while trekking through the Black Forest.  They walked out of Bacchus’ Brew and Luna wrapped Hermione in a tight hug before disapparating.  Rubbing her hands against the cold chill forming on her arms from the misty night air, Hermione walked into the night and down the main road that led to her flat.

  The roads in the area of London she lived off of were made of the same old cobblestone that lined the old buildings that had stood for centuries around her.  Normally, during the day, it created a quaint, aged atmosphere that reminded her of how far muggles had come along without the aid of magic. 

  The late hours of night were a different story.  Her footsteps echoed off the stone buildings that loomed over her like towering tomb stones.  Farther down the road, she could make out the silhouette of a drunk stumbling into his flat, a few choice slurs making it to her ears before he disappeared behind the door.  She quickened her steps.  An icy gust of wind blew into her from behind, lifting her hair and sending goose flesh down her neck.  She hurriedly brushed her tangled locks from her face, then stopped dead in her tracks after hearing the small sigh of a cloak rippling behind her.  She jumped forward and spun around, wand clutched tightly in her useless hand.  Fear gripped her chest. 

  A tall, cloaked figure stood before her with his head angled low and a worn hood shadowing his face.  The misty air swirled between them.

  She pointed her wand threateningly.  “Are you following me?” she demanded.

  His shoulders shook slightly in what she assumed was a silent laugh.  Then, his voice came out in a breathy whisper.  “I’m always following you,” his head lifted slightly and the street lamps reflected off a metallic mask she hadn’t seen in years.  It was unmistakably the mask of a Death Eater.  “Hermione Granger,” he hissed, then lunged towards her.  She dodged to the side, almost running into a trash bin. 

  “ _Impedimenta!_ ” she cried.  The jinx shot from her wand tip. It found its mark in the center of the Death Eater’s chest.  For a second, she felt relief at having performed a spell successfully.  He paused, looking down at his chest.  Slowly, he looked back towards her and continued his advance.  It wasn’t strong enough.  She hadn’t completed the wand movement with enough accuracy.  “Shit.” She spun around and began to run.  A spell flew past her head and blew a hole into a closed newspaper stand ahead of her.  Papers and split wood fell everywhere.  She quickly changed direction and charged left down an alleyway just in time to miss another spell.  She had to try and make it back to the Ministry of Magic.  Someone would see her.  Someone would help.  The alley was extremely narrow, but she could make out street lamps from the other end.  The masked man’s boots beating against the ground were too close.  She leaped over piles of bagged garbage and pounded her heals against the stone ground, keeping her focus on her cluttered path.  Suddenly, her head was jerked backwards by her hair.  Another hand gripped her tightly around the waste.

  “Having trouble with your wand?” he asked in a hushed but mocking tone.  Rage boiled in her stomach.  Sparks coursed through her hair from her scalp down to where his hand tangled itself in her curls.  She heard a static pop and he cursed, his hand jerking away.  She reached behind her and grabbed his thigh, shoving her thumb hard into his sciatic nerve.

  “You _bitch,_ ” he growled and he released her waste only to punch her hard against her temple.  It dazed her, but the punch itself was sloppy.  She was out of his grasp in time to see him raise his wand. 

  “No!”  She grabbed the lid of a trash bin at the last second to shield herself form his _Locomotor Mortis_ curse.  It shattered the tin lid and blasted a piece of it straight into Hermione’s face.  It ricocheted off her forehead.  She stared dazedly at him for a moment, not understanding what had happened until red flooded her vision.  She touched her forehead and looked at the crimson covering her hand.  She lost her footing while blinking blood from her eyes and fell backwards, landing on her side.  She scrambled back up only to be pushed against the side of a building, a long blade carefully placed against her neck, and his other arm leaned hard against her chest.  She stared into the slits of the mask trying hard and failing to make out any identifiable features he might have.  He leaned forward and breathed deeply into her hair. 

  “Was it fate that brought you to me tonight, of all nights?” he whispered, “Or are you just a distraction from my mission?”

  “ _You_ jumped _me_ , arsehole, remember?”  Hermione tried to shove him away, but he only pressed the knife to her throat harder.  She fought to calm her thoughts.  “What exactly is so special about tonight?” she asked, stalling for time.

  The mask looked at her again and seemed to consider.  “You’ll know soon enough,” was the whispered response.  “You have been found worthy.”  Slowly, the knife’s edge began to descend her neck.  Her reaction was instinctive.  She raised her knee sharply into his groin and pushed against him with all her strength.  He grunted and stumbled backwards.  She ran two steps before he grasped her by the shirt.  She lurched herself forward and felt the buttons of her blouse snap, but she was free again. 

  “Hey!” a man’s voice shouted from up the alley.  “ _Incarcerous!”_ The spell shot past Hermione and she glanced backwards towards the masked man in time to see him disapparate before the Incarcerous bindings could take effect. 

  She slowed to a stop, panting heavily, and collapsed to her knees.  Footsteps from her savior rushed to her side.  “I heard a shout!  Miss, are you alr- Hermione?”

  Her head shot up.  “ _Thomas?_ ”

  “Merlin, your face!”  He bent down and touched her elbows lightly.  “Can you stand?”

  She nodded dumbly.  “It’ll probably hurt worse tomorrow.  I live just down that road…” she looked down the long expanse of wet cobblestones.  Suddenly, she was terrified of every dark shadow that waited between where she sat and her flat. 

  “You’re shaking.” 

  “I’m fine.”  Her breaths were heavy, and yet she couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.  “I just need some sleep.”

  “Who was that man?  What happened?”

  “I was…” she noticed her shirt’s state of disarray and hastily gripped it closed where the buttons had snapped off.  “I was just _walking_ …”

  He considered her small, defeated appearance.  “I’m taking you home.  I live nearby, so it’s no trouble.  Show me where you live and I’ll get you there.  But first,” he took hold of her chin and pointed his wand to her forehead.  “Keep still.  _Episkey!_ ”  Warmth spread across her face, and she felt the tingling of her cut skin healing.  She gently touched her head.  His healing skills were more adept than she’d thought they’d be.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.  “You said you live here too?”

  He shrugged.  “Living within walking distance from work seemed… _practical_.”  The way he said it almost sounded like something about the fact amused him.  “I made a stop by my benefactor’s manor to inquire about our use of his library, then I ran a few personal errands and was walking back home.”  She wearily accepted his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.  Gripping her blouse shut, they began walking towards her home.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I was on my way home from seeing my friend.”  Her voice was flat.

  “Miss Lovegood?”

  A small ghost of a smile pulled at the side of her lips.  “Yes, Luna.  She’s taking a trip to Germany and wanted to say goodbye.  The restaurant we met at isn’t far, it’s just a short way off behind us.  The street was empty and then he was just… there.  Thomas,” she shivered, “he was dressed like a Death Eater.”

  “Haven’t they all been caught?”

  “Most of them.  The ones that haven’t aren’t stupid enough to come out of hiding dressed like that.”  A rustling off to her side made her jump sideways into him.  A small shadow leaped out from behind some garbage and zipped over a gated fence.  He placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

  “It was just a cat.”

  Her nerves were shot.  “I-I had a cat once.  He was my familiar.  Ron used to say he was the ugliest cat he’d ever laid eyes on, but I thought he was majestic.”

  Tom glanced sideways at her as they continued walking.  “I think you might be in shock.”

  They walked the rest of the way to her flat in silence.  Once they’d made their way up the cement steps to her door, she began shuffling awkwardly in her pockets for her key.  Tom chuckled dryly and retrieved his wand.  “ _Alohamora,_ ” he stated simply, and the door lock clicked in answer.

  She sighed.  “Thank you.  Again.”  She opened the door. 

  “You do realize how dangerously easy that was for me.  A _muggle_ could even break in here.”

  "I can’t exactly cast wards at the moment,” she said a touch too harshly.  “Nor can I ask anyone to do it for me without all the wrong people finding out I-“

  “I’m not doing anything else at the moment.”

  She paused, eyeing him suspiciously.  Casting wards on a home was not something one would typically ask from a stranger.  But he was an Auror.  And he’d saved her life.  He stepped through her door frame.  “You’re my partner now.  It’s in my benefit that you stay safe outside of work hours.”

  She stared at him and then lowered her head.  “You’re right.  If it’s not too much trouble, I would really appreciate it.  It seems your arrival at the Ministry couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  He cocked his head to the side studying her.  He had succeeded in infiltrating the ministry and gaining access to her home.  It had been almost too easy.  In his experience, nothing came easily.  Nothing came without persuasion.  Or aggression.  Still, he allowed himself the triumph of her thankful smile.  In such bloodied disarray, he couldn’t help but believe her to be a sight to behold.

  She looked away from his gaze and noticed the state of her living room.  “Please, ignore the mess.  I’ve barely had a chance to unpack anything besides my books.  I’ll just be a minute.”

  He waved her away and she retreated to the back of her flat.  He took the opportunity to look around.  Back in his time, it was unthinkable for a witch of her age to be living alone.  And to have a job as an Auror? 

  “Kids these days,” he muttered.  Yet, even with her magical abilities on a temporary hiatus, she had commendable combat skills from what little he’d seen in her attempt to flee the masked man.  He ran his fingers over the tomes on her shelves.  If she had actually read and understood half of what she owned, her mental fortitude was greater than he’d taken into account.  All seven volumes of _Chadwick Boot’s Charms_ sat neatly next to the entire works of Miranda Goshawk.  He was mildly surprised to find _Moste Potente Potions_ by Libatius Borage, but what truly gave him pause was the faded-black leather bound volume that offered no author’s name.  _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.  He knew of only one copy in existence.  His finger caressed the spine fondly.

  “Would you like some tea?” Hermione emerged from the loo, face cleaned of blood and wearing a loose-fitting yellow blouse to replace the tattered one.  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you.  Whatever flavor you prefer will be fine,” he said.  As she began to place a pot on her stove, he couldn’t help but frown.  She was boiling the water.  By flame.

  “Yes, Thomas, just like a cave man,” she stated, correctly reading his facial features.  “You’ll have to take my word on it, though.  It truly tastes better this way.”

  He shook his head.  Once he’d discovered he was a wizard, he’d been revolted by the mediocracy and tediousness of muggle living.  He turned away from the insulting scene and began casting anti-unlocking charms on the door and an anti-intruder jinx around the perimeter of her living room.  By the time he finished a final security spell, he could smell the tea’s aroma coming from the kitchen.  She brought a tea cup to him.  “I put a bit of honey in it.  It’s been cultivated from bees that thrive in dittany fields.”

  Unable to stop old habits, he wordlessly cast a detection spell over the cup.  There were no poisons in the mundane concoction.  He took a small sip.  The taste of chamomile coupled with the scent of lavender was just the right strength.  The honey took away any bite the tea might have had and the subtle dittany made the drink entirely a new sensation.

  “It’s good,” he stated.

  “I’m glad you like it.”  She looked around the room.  “Have you finished?”

  “With the basic protection spells and a few jinxes.  It’s enough to keep out even a competent wizard.  You should be safe."

  She nodded and offered him a seat.  Her dining table was stacked with boxes that she pushed out of the way.  Slowly, she sat in one of the chairs and rubbed her temple.

  “Did you get a good look at your attacker?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Tom frowned.  “Nothing about him stuck out?  We could see about ordering a pensieve and having someone take a look at your memory if that might help.”

  She shook her head.  “He was masked and hooded.  All I could make out was that he was about six feet tall.”

  “Could you see his skin?”

  She thought back.  He hadn’t been wearing gloves.  “All I saw were his hands.  He was Caucasian.  I didn’t see any tattoos, scars or rings.”

  “That’s good.  Did he speak to you?  Do you remember hearing an accent?”

  She sipped her tea and tried not to focus on the migraine she felt coming on.  “He had no accent.  He was definitely from here.  He wanted to know why he’d run into me ‘tonight of all nights,’ and that I’d been found worthy.  He said he’d been following me.”

  “Does anything else stick out to you?  Anything out of the ordinary?”

  She frowned at the comment.  The entire incident was ‘out of the ordinary’, but she knew what he was trying to do.  These questions were standard procedure and she could appreciate him wanting to walk her through them.  She thought back and something did stick out.  “He only whispered.  I thought he was just trying to keep anyone living nearby from overhearing anything, but I was yelling at the top of my lungs and he only whispered the entire time.”

  Tom looked at her knowingly.

  “I must know him.”  Her head spun.  The man had been afraid she might recognize his voice.  He could be a fellow classmate from Hogwarts, a coworker, or even a _friend_!

  Tom drank the last bit of tea.  “We can report this in the morning once you’ve rested.”

  She brought her tea cup down onto the table hard.  A small amount of the liquid spilled.  “Absolutely not,” she stated authoritatively.  He raised an eyebrow at her tone.  “If Harry hears even a whisper of what happened tonight, he’ll have me off the case.  He’ll have me off all cases.  It would be two birds-one stone for him.  I’d be safe, and he’d get my case.  He has Kingsley wrapped around his finger!  It would take one complaint from Harry,” she raised her finger, “and I’d be reassigned to desk duty.”

  Tom watched her steadily.  “So, am I to presume we keep most of what we discover between us?”

  “Yes.”  She shuffled in her chair uneasily.  “I’m sorry to put you in this position, but I need your word.”

  Tom’s lips pealed back into a smiled.  “I can give you something better.  I know of a spell.  A promise spell.”

  Hermione started.  “The Unbreakable Vow?”

  Tom chuckled and waved his hand.  “No, nowhere near as severe.  This spell won’t require to keep the promise by threat of death.  And we won’t need a witness.  This just makes it… difficult to break the promise.  It requires an even exchange.  Whatever I promise you, you must promise me in return.”  He pulled two galleons from his pocket and placed them on the table.  Silently, he transfigured them into two gold rings.  He slid his fingers through them and held them up in front of her.  “I cast the spell on the rings.  Once we each put them on, we give each other our promise.”

  Hermione hesitated.  “Can the spell be broken?”

  “Of course,” Tom stated.  “It’s broken when we both remove our rings together.”

  She eyed him.  “It’s that easy?”

  He handed her a ring.  “It’s that easy.”

  She held the tiny bit of gold in her palm.  “This really means a lot, Thomas.  Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

  “If it makes you feel like you can be open with me, then yes.”

  She nodded and held the ring out.  “Right then.  Cast the spell.”

  Tom performed an intricate flourish with his wand then said, “ _Aequalis Foedus_.”  The rings began to hum in their palms.  “Now put it on and repeat what I say.”  She hurriedly obliged.  “I promise not to reveal any secrets you might have that would hinder your goals.”  His ring began to glow. 

  Hermione nodded, approving his statement.  “I promise not to reveal any secrets you might have that would hinder your goals.”  Her ring glowed in response. 

  Tom waved his wand once more.  “ _Finis!_ ”  Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief.  “Feel better?”

  She blushed slightly.  “It’s nothing against you, Thomas, I just needed the extra security for now.  I know we’re partners, but I still barely know you.”

  “I understand.”  He stood from the table.  “It’s late now, though, and I’ve kept you from much-needed rest, I’m sure.  Thank you for the tea.”  He turned to leave through the door.

  “Thomas, please, you can take my floo.  There’s no need to be back on the streets at this hour.”  She hurried over to her chimney and removed a pouch from the mantle.  “Here,” she opened the pouch of floo powder to him.  “I’ll open my floo to you as well, but don’t think you can just come over uninvited.  This is emergencies only.”

  He smiled.  “As it should be.”  He reached into the pouch, grabbing the dust, and stepped into the fireplace.

  She gave him a small smile, twisting the new ring that adorned her finger.  “And good luck with your new flat.  I’m sure you’ll have a better time than I will unpacking.”

  “It’s already done,” he said, then thought back to the flats they’d passed during their walk together.  Throwing the powder on the ground, he stated clearly “104 Whitehall, London, flat 2B.”

  It had taken little doing on Lucius’ part to contact his connections within the Floo Division in the Ministry.  Lucius’ name might have been raked through the mud, but his demands were still immediately attended to.  He requested via owl that the muggle residence listed have access to the floo network. 

  Said muggles were in the middle of dinner as Tom walked through their sitting room.  The parents were watching the tele, but their young boy noticed him.  He dropped his fork onto his plate.  They’d barely begun eating.  That was for the best.  Tom had developed quite an appetite.

  He pointed his wand at the family.  “ _Imperio._ ”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Another month, another chapter. This one took me a while. Marie Kondo's "Tidying Up" had me rethinking my life and I got a little distracted from the story with reorganizing my house, but I'm back on track now and I wanted to give you guys something to show for it. Thank you for all your wonderful comments! I'm really excited that so many of you are enjoying the ride.

 Chapter 5

              Rain began to beat heavily against the roof of a small house sitting on a hill just east of the Burrow.  Ronald Weasley’s red hair stood out in all directions as he stared out the window at the sky.  Every bird that flew by made his heart beat fast in hopes it was an owl carrying a message from his fiancé.

              It hadn’t even been a full day since he’d sent her his half-hearted letter of apology, but she had always been so punctual about returning messages.  It’s one of the things he appreciated about her, despite him not usually returning the favor.  He turned and looked around his cramped living room.  He’d made another three orders for muggle parts after she’d left but hadn’t had the motivation to unpack any of it.  He’d much preferred the bottles of fire whiskey.  During his drunken stupors, he’d thrown all of Hermione’s belongings into boxes and even torn a few of her shirts to shreds, but when he’d awoken each morning to the carnage, he’d carefully placed all her things back into the closet or drawers where they’d been before.  He’d gotten an early start this morning and was already halfway through another bottle. 

              He hadn’t truly believed she’d been serious about leaving when she returned from St. Mungos.  Even seeing her arm in a sling and after taking a pepper up potion, he’d thought she was all bravado and would return with her tail between her legs the next morning.  She’d never been on her own before.  It had always been just her, him and Harry since that first day on the train to Hogwarts.  She couldn’t possibly think she could make it out there on her own.  After a few days had passed, though, he decided to draft an apology.  He didn’t mind being the bigger man this time.  Perhaps he even deserved a little bit of the silent treatment, but not responding to his letter was taking things too far.

              He clenched his jaw, feeling the all-too-familiar rage heating up his ears.  He would give her until work was over and he’d seek her out.  She was in need of a reminder of who the man in the relationship was.  He wouldn’t have her prancing around like some single tart in the streets.  Talking to other _men_.    That very thought quickened his breathing and he turned back around to continue looking out the window.  If she wouldn’t come back to him, he would go to her at the Ministry.  And if she was already gone, he knew just who he needed to talk to in order to find out where she was living.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

              Hermione bolted upright blowing globs of hair out of her mouth.  Instantly, her temples began to throb and her ribs screamed in agony.  She clutched her bruised side and fell back onto her pillow.

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

              She growled in frustration and, carefully this time, sat up and looked to her window.  A brown owl stood at her sill, feathers ruffled as it shook off the light rain that was falling in the early morning hours.  She reached across her bed and pried the window open.  The owl swooped inside and sprayed her face with rain water as it zipped over her head. 

              “Bloody avian!” she barked and eyed it menacingly until it fluttered to a stop on her head board.  It cocked its head to the side, not understanding the point of her ire and held its leg out expectantly.  Tied above the talons was a small, rolled up scroll.  She pulled it loose and unrolled the parchment.  Her eyes scanned the note quickly.

_Hermione,_

_Your presence is required immediately.  There has been another murder._

_-Kingsley_

              Her fist clenched around the note and it crumpled in her tightened grip.  Rage filled her.  Had her attacker from yesterday night been involved?  Had he been running around town as well as other like him causing distractions for the murder to go on without notice?  He had been so close!  He’d been _right there_ in front of her! 

A painful heat emanated from the parchment and she threw it out of her hand.  A ball of flame and ashes fell onto her bed sheets and she shrieked, throwing her pillow over the small inferno to drown it.  Huffing, she lifted the pillow back up and sighed at her ruined sheets. 

              _I’ve been cut off from my magic for too long.  It’s starting to leak out._   “This isn’t good,” she muttered.  She grabbed her sheets together in a ball and pulled them off the bed.  Looking to the owl again, she motioned towards the window.  “Get on with you, then,” she snapped.  “You’ve plenty of food where you came from.”

              The owl hooted its discontent at not being offered a treat, but flew back out the window.  To add to her morning dilemma, her doorbell rang.  She rushed hurriedly out of her bedroom, her sheets in tow, and threw open the front door.  Thomas stood, one eye brow raised high. 

              “I assume you got a letter as well?” he asked, stepping inside.  “Lucius notified me that he received a letter on my behalf.”  He eyed her bundle.  “You don’t seem quite ready to go yet.” 

             She threw the sheets to the side.  “I had an accident.”

             “Most of us stopped having those in our toddler years.”

             “Not _that_ kind of accident!” she snapped, then crossed her arms.  “I set my sheets on fire.”

             He actually had the nerve to smile.  “How delightful.”  His dark eyes sparkled.

             “This isn’t funny, Thomas, I can’t use my magic and now it’s using me instead!”

             He bent down to examine the discarded sheets.  Judging from the size of the scorch marks, she had materialized a fairly sizeable flame.  “This is rather…” he turned his head back towards her and all at once took a sudden notice of her appearance.  “Remarkable.”  It seemed in her haste to answer the door, she’d forgotten her state of dress.  She wore a red loose fitting spaghetti strap and soft black shorts held up with a drawstring.  Despite her lack of clothes, she didn’t seem at all abashed.  _Modern witches_ , he thought.  Much had certainly changed over the years.

             She turned on her heal and walked back to her room, calling over her shoulder as she did.  “What brings you here anyway, Thomas?  I would have seen you at the office shortly.”

             He let the sheets fall back to the floor as he watched her disappear behind her bedroom door.  “I had a feeling that you would try to walk to work again.”

             “I _like_ walking to work.  Just because we have the advantages of instant teleportation via the floo doesn’t mean I have to take short cuts every opportunity I get,” came her reply.

             “That’s commendable of you, but need I remind you of what happened last time you decided to take a stroll on the streets of London.”

             “I’d prefer not to be reminded, if that’s alright with you.”  Moments later, she opened the door and was fully dressed in her Auror robes.  “But if you insist.  I suppose the urgency of this morning dictates we should get there as soon as possible.”  She took a handful of floo powder and motioned for him to go first.  “After you.”

             He palmed his own handful of the powder and eyed her.  “You _will_ be right behind me, correct?”

             She looked abashed.  “Would I lie to you?”  His gaze darkened and she threw her hands in the air.  “Alright, I promise.  Let’s just go!”

             He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a green puff of smoke.  She pursed her lips and looked at her front door, contemplating the rebellious idea of walking to work just in spite of his commanding her about.  She sighed and stepped into the fireplace.  “Didn’t want to walk in the rain anyway.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

              The moment they walked through the doors of the auror’s department, they were met with an uproar.  People crowded around Penelope Clearwater’s desk yelling, and owls flew from every direction dropping letters onto her head. 

              “Please,” she waved her hands at everyone.  “Please, I can’t hear with everyone shouting at once!”

              Hermione seethed.  “Honestly!  Absolutely ridiculous.”  She pushed her way through the bodies to Penelope’s desk and turned to face the masses.  “Back!  All of you, step back and stop talking!” she yelled.  Angry red faces looked down at her, but silence fell.  “You!” she pointed at the man nearest her.  “You can stay.  Everyone else, you are to exit that door and form a line in the hallway.  When this man has finished, the next person in line may enter.  I’m sure you all have a very good reason to come here in person, but I expect _order_ so everyone has an equal opportunity to report their grievances.  Now, _out_!” 

              The group grumbled, but slowly leaked back out into the hallway.  A letter fell in front of Hermione from another owl and she picked it up.  It was addressed to the Auror’s department as well.  She turned to Penelope.  “Where’s Clarence?  He should be helping you with these letters, at least.”  Penelope’s eyes were puffy and she looked like she’d been holding back tears.  Hermione softened her voice.  “What’s happened?”

              The blonde girl sniffed.  “Clarence called in sick.  We’ve been getting reports all morning of robbery and vandalism happening all over town.  It’s like every would-be trouble maker decided to cause problems at the same time!  And I’m left sorting everything out on my own!” 

              Tom put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder.  “We should talk with the Minister.”

              Penelope’s eyes flicked over to him.  “Yes, that’s right.  There was another…you know.”  She eyed the man waiting by her desk and lowered her voice to be more discreet.  “Another one.  He wanted to see you first thing.”

              Tom and Hermione immediately headed around the corridor leading to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office.  Tom’s voice softly spoke from beside her.  “Seems like your theory of there being a group involved with the murders is holding up.”

              Hermione nodded.  “All the more reason for me to get my magic under control.  If I can’t use my wand and we’re up against more than one assailant, I don’t know how much use I’ll be in a combat situation.”

              Tom regarded her thoughtfully.  “There are ways to use magic without a wand… for some.”

              Hermione glanced at him and hissed.  “Wandless magic?  I’m afraid you’re overestimating what you’ve read in the Prophet about me.”

              “Your magic is strong, Ms. Granger.  Perhaps stronger than you give yourself credit for.  Most witches and wizards wouldn’t have the same problems you faced this morning until months or even years without a wand.  Unused magic can be volatile without a wand as an outlet, but when properly focused…”

              Hermione interrupted him.  “There isn’t a witch or wizard alive who could teach me that.  None readily available, at least.  And the only one I would have considered asking is six feet underground.”

              Tom motioned his head towards Shackelbolt’s door in front of them and looked at Hermione meaningfully.  It swung open by itself.  Hermione stared at him in shock.  He bent down to her ear and whispered, “We’ll talk about this later.”

              To say the Minister was angry was an understatement.  He was furious.  He was normally such a soft spoken and kindly man that seeing him so ruffled was a shock in itself. 

              “I have been here fighting off reporters since three in the morning.  It’s by the grace of sheer dumb luck that none of them know yet about the other murder, but the other crimes that occurred last night amount so far in the thirties.”  He snapped his hand over to a pile of reports on his desk.  “Larceny, vandalism, arson, and assaults _including_ the dischargings of the Unforgivable Cruciatus curse on pedestrians in the street!” He leaned back in his leather chair and rubbed away sweat beading on his forehead.  “I’ve re-read through your reports and I agree with your presumption of this being a group effort, Ms. Granger.  I’ll give you access to whatever resources you deem necessary, just stop them before they kill again.  Otherwise, I’ll have to pass the case onto someone else who can.”

             Hermione knew his anger wasn’t necessarily directed at the two of them, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was failing the department as an Auror.  Failing Harry and Ginny as a friend.  Failing Thomas as a partner. 

              “Who were the victims?” Tom asked.  Hermione couldn’t muster the courage to raise her head after Shackelbolt’s lecture and threats of handing the job to Auror’s with more experience under their belt. 

              Kingsley cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his robes.  “Ziden and Alete Velch.  I’ve sent for a close relative to let you into the premises.  It’s still heavily warded.”  He handed Tom a note with the address.  “You’ll have to fly there.” 

              Tom didn’t miss Hermione’s shoulders tensing.  “Thank you, sir,” he said, taking the parchment and handing it to Hermione who looked over the address.  “We’ll be on our way immediately.”

              “See that you have your reports to me first thing tomorrow morning,” he said sternly.  They stood and made their way to the roof where brooms were awaiting for ministry employees. 

              Hermione knew how to fly a broom, but it by far was not her most preferred mode of travel.  If she thought a muggle cab might deliver them to a wizarding neighborhood, she would have taken that route in an instant. Especially with the rain.  She opened the exit door to the roof and glanced at the heavy precipitation.  “We might need an Impervious Charm cast on our faces so we can see while we fly.”

              He smiled.  “How clever.  I’ve never thought of using that charm quite that way before.  But I have a charm that might be better suited.”  He swirled his wand three times over each of their heads.  She had the distinct feeling of being covered in a waxy substance.  “I call it the Impermeable Charm.  It’s similar to the Impervious, except it will keep your entire body dry while you fly.” 

              She felt her skin.  “This is amazing!  Did you come up with this yourself?”

              He nodded.  “I combined elements of the Impervious and the Full Body-Bind Curse.”

              She smiled widely.  “Brilliant!  We’ll still need a disillusionment charm when we take off, but this is really…” she shook her head in astonishment, “well done!”

              He smirked.  “Any time I can be of service.”  He opened the door for her.  “After you.” 

             They walked out into the rain and Hermione marveled at how the water seemed to roll right off of her.  “It’s a bit like a duck’s feathers, isn’t it?” 

             He held his hand out in front of him and regarded the water.  “I suppose it is.”

             Gathered at the side of the roof was a stand holding about thirty brooms.  She sighed and held her hand over the sturdiest looking broom she saw.  “Up!”  For a dreadful second, the broom did not move an inch.  Then, with a force that almost blew her backwards, it popped up into her hand.  She rubbed her aching hand in protest as Tom commanded his broom into his palm.  “So, how long have you been able to use wandless magic?”

              He gave her a considering look.  “Since as long as I can remember.  At a young age, I knew that I could make things happen.  I fixated on it for years, working on harnessing the gift.  When I was caught, my parents took me on my first trip to Diagon Alley and bought me everything I might need to be home schooled as a wizard, but I never stopped practicing without a wand.  My power was strong.  So is yours.”  He gripped her shoulder and she stared into his face, watching the beads of rain fall from his charmed-dry hair.  She’d never noticed how dark his eyes were.  Like the eternal darkness stuck between two stars.  “I can show you.”

              Hermione nodded.  “It’s worth a shot.  If I can’t fix my arm…”

              “We will fix your arm.  Wandless magic will always have its uses even to one who can wield a wand.  It’s raw magic.  Unfiltered by a tool.  It’s pure youness, for lack of a better word.”  He gazed at her.  “You have that raw potential.”

              She looked at him in awe, then shook her head, chuckling lightly.  “You certainly have a way with words, Thomas.”  She looked at the parchment with the scrawled address.  “Let’s just get through today.  I recognize this street address.”  She looked out over the top of London and pointed north east.  “We’ll head that way and pass right out of London and into the suburbs.  There’s a neighborhood just west of Spellbrook.  Land at the fountain at the neighborhood entrance.  I’ll meet you there where it’s safe to disillusion ourselves.”  She threw her leg over her broom

              Tom stepped towards her, hovering his wand over her head and tapped it lightly.  The unnerving feeling of having an egg cracked onto her head made her shudder.  He waved his wand over his own head and he disappeared from her sight. 

              “Be careful,” she said before jumping off into the storm. 

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~

              Birds chirped and flew over the head of Luna Lovegood as she walked through the Black Forest.  Despite its name, the woods were full of bright, lush greenery and life  Though she was born in a world full of bustling people and politics, she felt most at home surrounded by the unpredictable nature of the magical wild forest.  In a single day, she’d spotted foxes, badgers, a family of squirrels and a wild cat.  When collecting water from a river, she’d spotted a hippogriff swooping down to snatch a fish from the stream.  She drew the drawstring of her bottomless bag tight and tied it to her belt loop, tapping it affectionately.  She’d even found a plethora of interesting herbs to bring back to Hermione but, alas, her mission to find any of the magical beasts on her list yielded no results for the day.  She’d made her way deep into the Black Forest before the light began to fade.  The density of magic in that area made it nearly impossible to apparate in or out from where she was, so if she planned on making it back to the shallower areas of the forest by night fall, she’d need to turn around soon.  Munching dishearteningly away at her trail mix, she turned and began to retrace her steps back to where she’d be able to apparate to the nearest village. 

              Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.  The hair on her arms stood on end as a cold chill crept down her spine.  She could feel eyes boring a hole into the space between her shoulder blades.  She turned her head slowly to the side and in a low voice said, “I apologize if I’ve disturbed your domain.  I am just a traveler seeking knowledge of your wondrous forest.  I am leaving for today, but if my presence displeases you I will not return.”  She stood straight and still while waiting for a response. 

              Soft laughs whispered through the leaves of the trees above her.  She looked upwards but saw only the wind moving the thick canopy of branches, the dark orange of sunset blinking through the leaves.  She untied the sweater from around her waist and laid it onto the ground in front of her.  She then sat down cross legged on top of it.  Luna was not one to feel fear in situations most people would normally find unnerving.  Setting her small pack to her side, she placed her empty palms on her knees and waited patiently for the beings to make an appearance. 

              The wind died down as the forest seemed to consider her.  “It is descended from the magic of our daughters,” a voice said softly.  It was the voice of a woman and her last word seemed to echo all around her like a wind chime.

              “It has an aura of curiosity and innocence,” came another voice; female but much younger than the first.  “It fears us not.  Bravery is not uncommon to it.”

              “It is foolish, then,” snapped the older voice. 

              Luna tilted her head.  She’d been called many things in her life.  Strange, off putting, and _looney_ were at the top of the list of common brands she’d been marked as, but never foolish.  She extended her hands out before her.  “I give you my word, you have nothing to fear of me.”

              Laughter tinkled all around her again and the younger voice spoke.  “It thinks we fear.”

             “There is nothing it could do to hurt us.”

             “Harm will not come to this forest by its hand.  Even so…”

              “It smells of _him_ who killed our sister,” came the first voice again.  The wind picked up violently and Luna shielded her face as leaves and twigs smacked furiously against her.

              “Please!” she beseeched.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”   Looking between her fingers, she was able to make out two figures materializing before her.  Something snaked around her legs and she jerked up realizing with a start that she was bound to the ground by tree roots.  In an instant, her wand was in her hand and she pointed it at the roots.  _“Incendio!”_ she hollered, but the spell seemed to absorb itself into the thick wet bark. 

              “The wand is of the earth, as are the roots.  It recognizes its brethren and will not harm that of its kin,” the girls’ voices said around her.  Luna pulled at the roots binding her legs to the ground and shrieked when another snapped around her wrist, pulling her arm out and to the side.  She fell backwards and another snaked around her neck.  Realizing her efforts were futile, she fought again to reason with the spirits.

              “I don’t know anything about your sister or who killed her!  If I did, I would certainly do everything in my power to help you find retribution!”  The wind died down and the roots paused in their movements.  “I-I’m a reporter!  I make it my business to investigate and discover the truth.  If there’s been a crime committed against you, I have the resources to help you!”  She waited and listened to the agonizing silence before hearing footfalls near her head.  A hand reached down and touched the tree roots around her neck.  They slowly fell away from her and she sat up, coughing and rubbing her bruised limbs.  She turned her head towards the two women kneeling before her. 

              “We are listening.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

               The home of Ziden and Alete Velch looked more like a Hollywood star’s mansion.  Hermione hovered over the cement pathway in front of the gated peremiter of the home.  Behind the bars was the large fountain.  She looked around cold and impatiently waiting for Thomas to arrive.  Warm air hit her ear.

              “Took you long enough,” a voice murmured.  Hermione nearly leapt out of her skin and spun around.  Thomas’ figure appeared as he lifted the Disillusionment Charms off each of them. 

              “Bloody hell, Thomas, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

              A smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he moved to stand by her.  They looked over the vast property.  “It certainly is large.  I find it hard to believe the murderer had an easy time breaking through the wards if even we have to be let inside.”

              Hermione touched the bars and squinted to get a better look at something moving towards them through the rain.  “Someone’s coming,” she said.  A man walked to the gate, face hidden underneath a dark green umbrella.  He was tall and lean, dressed in a suit and wearing impeccably shiny black dress shoes.  He pulled a long black wand from his sleeve and muttered a spell.  The hinges creaked and the gate slowly opened just wide enough for Hermione and Tom to walk through. 

              “Ms. Granger.  It’s been some time,” said the man, and he inched the umbrella up to look her in the eyes.  A dark-skinned palm reached out to shake her hand. 

              “Blaise!” she exclaimed.  “I had no idea it was… I’m so sorry for your loss.”  She took his hand in hers.  “How were you related to them?” 

              He shook his head, eyes closing tiredly.  Alete was my step sister from my mother’s previous marriage.  We were close in age.  After her father died and my mother and I moved away, the two of us stayed close.” 

              Hermione stepped back and motioned to Tom.  “Thomas, this is Blaise Zabini.  We were both students at Hogwarts together.  Blaise, this is my partner.”

He turned his head to examine Tom.  His eyes narrowed.  “Ah, yes.  Thomas Yew.  Congratulations on your recent employment as an Auror.”

              Tom’s eyes were stony as he took Blaise’s hand into a firm shake.  “You know of me?”

              “Only from the surprisingly little Draco has told me of you,” Blaise responded.  His grip tightened.  “Absolutely terrible what happened to your parents.  What _extraordinary_ luck to find out you’re related to the great house of Malfoy.”

              Uncomfortable with the way the two men were staring each other down, Hermione cleared her throat to get their attention.  “So, what did Alete and Ziden both do?”

              Blaise motioned for them to follow him to the home.  “My step sister was a fashion designer for a French witch’s fashion line of apparel.  She was often abroad, but when she became pregnant, she devoted all of her time to staying home and preparing a life for her child.  Ziden made enough for the two of them to live comfortably while she was out of work.  He worked for the Ministry as an Unspeakable, but did most of his work from home.  There’s a lab in the basement that he preferred over the amenities of the Ministry.”  They got to the front door and Blaise turned to Hermione.  “His body is still down there.  Hers is in the nursery on the second floor by the master bedroom.  If you don’t mind, I’d rather not go back in there.  Not in the state that it’s in.”

              “Of course,” Hermione said.  “We’ll let ourselves out once we’ve finished looking the place over.  I’ll have the Ministry reach out to you by owl once we’ve finished.”

              He nodded.  “I’ve had the boy brought to my manor.  My name hasn’t been tied to Alete’s family in some time, so I imagine no one would come to me looking for young Avon.  Still, if it’s all the same, I’d like to request that my name stay out of any press statements.  For his sake.”

              “I understand.”  She put her hand on his shoulder.  “It’s good of you to have taken the baby.  Not all of the other children have been so lucky to have relatives in a position to take on a child.”

              He gave her a small smile.  “Thank you for your discretion.”  Then he turned to the door and waved his hand over the lock.  A series of clicks were heard inside the large wooden door before he reached to the handle and opened it for them.  “Do stop by my home if you have any questions.  I dare say I’ll be spending a lot of time there.  It would be… nice to catch up.”  His smile fell as he glanced back at Tom.  “Thomas.”

              Tom said nothing, but met his cool gaze.  He considered using Legilimency to see what the prat thought he knew, but resisted the urge.  If Zabini knew no more than the young Malfoy did, Tom had nothing to fear from petty suspicion.  They watched as Blaise walked back through the gate and disapparated.  “Are the two of you friends?”

               Hermione chewed on her bottom lip.  “Not really, no.  He was in our rival house at Hogwarts, but he never bothered me like most of the other Slytherins did.  He was actually always pleasant to me.  He mostly kept to himself and focused on his studies, which I could appreciate.”

They walked inside and Hermione made a terrible effort of hiding her awe of the place.  It looked like a top of the line interior decorator had created his masterpiece within the four walls. 

              “Merlin’s beard…” she said, her eyes wildly soaking in the scene.  “This place is beautiful!”

              Tom ignored the decorations and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room towards a door in the back corner.  He opened it and peered inside.  “There are stairs in here that lead down.”

              Hermione snapped back to attention.  The basement.  “Right.  She straightened her back and walked with Tom down the dark stairs.  Candles were lit along the walls and the air grew considerably colder.  It reminded her of the dungeons at Hogwarts where she took Potions with Professor Snape.  As they went lower, a wave of nausea began to hit her stomach.  She could feel the dark magic once again.  Tom glanced behind himself at her.  She almost thought she saw a smile on his lips, but he turned around again and continued down.

              They reached the bottom and turned the corner into what Hermione assumed used to be a functioning lab.  One of the long tables was flipped over and potions were strewn everywhere.  With whatever he had been working on, they were lucky a fire didn’t erupt from the volatile liquids.  The body of the husband was bound to the ground.  Chains had been materialized from the stone floor and were locked around his wrists and ankles.  He had been sliced open from neck to navel.  Once again, that same strange symbol had been painted around his body with his own blood.  This time, though, each of his vital organs had been placed at the seven points of the star.  Hermione stepped to the northern most point of the symbol.  “It’s his heart,” she stated.  Her voice sounded dead.  She could turn off her feelings with her cases and look over the scene as if it were a picture in a book.  The disconnect had gotten easier with time and, as much as she wondered what the effect was having on her psyche, she was thankful for it.  She looked at the other organs and pointed them out in a clockwise motion.  “That’s his spleen, stomach, lung, gallbladder, appendix and kidney.”  She look back up at Tom who was bent down looking in the floo at the back of the basement.  “Did you find something?”

              He let his finger rub at the ashes and stood up to examine them.  He turned to her and held his finger out.  “These ashes are a burned green.  This wasn’t used for fire, it was their transportation floo.”  She walked to him and held his hand up to her eyes.  Then she looked into the fireplace.

              “Blaise mentioned he worked from home most of the time.  Perhaps he used this floo to have projects brought back and forth to the Department of Mysteries.”  She gave Tom a meaningful look.  “You don’t think…”

              “The killer might be someone he knew.  Someone in the Ministry.  With all the wards set around this house, I see no other route inside but through the floo.” 

              She shook her head, but couldn’t deny his logic.  She hated to think someone on their side might be involved, but she couldn’t cross it off her list of possibilities.  “Let’s keep looking.  Is this symbol the same as the one you drew before?”  She stared hard at it and tried to discern its meaning as Tom flipped through his notepad. 

              “Aside from the placement of organs, it’s the same.”

              “The heart is mostly noted and used as a symbol of circulating energy.  In the Dark Ages, ancient practitioners of magic used the heart in hopes of animating objects or dead animals,” she thought out loud, reciting passages from an old tomb called _Ancient Practices and Anatomy_.  “The spleen acts as a filter for blood circulated by the heart.  All impurities are detected and eliminated by it.  It’s use in magic has been for much the same purpose; purifying that which was contaminated.  The stomach’s main purpose is digestion, but in a spell it could be the vital component to turning organic matter into energy.  The lungs take in oxygen and release carbon into the air but symbolically they’re seen as a means of taking in the new and letting go of the old.”  She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was starting to think about the symbol. 

              Tom stepped behind her and continued.  “The gallbladder was known spiritually as the center of emotion in the body.  The appendix is a symbol of the evolution of man from their humbler beginnings.  Ancients have used it in trying to evolve men further.  Finally, the kidney.  It’s thought of as being the seat of conscience, desire and wisdom.” 

              Hermione breathed hard, bile forming in her throat as she breathed the dark magic into her lungs.  “It’s a resurrection spell.”

              “For Voldemort,” Tom finished.  He placed his hands on her shoulders.  “It didn’t work, though.”

              “How do you know?”

              His hand slid down her arm and settled over her stomach.  “Can you feel the dark magic inside you?”  His lips barely touched her ear as he whispered his question, sending a wave of gooseflesh down her neck.  “It’s thick in the air and it settles within you when you breathe it in.  You feel it here,” he pressed gently into her stomach and her back briefly made contact with his chest.  “It makes you dizzy.  Light headed.  That’s the feel of dark power yet to be unleashed.  He had all the ingredients, said all the right words and drew the right symbol.  And yet…” he released Hermione and turned her to face him.  “Something was still missing.  The catalyst.”

              “What’s the catalyst?” she breathed.

              He smirked at her.  “I have no idea.”

              “M-maybe it’s Harry and Ginny’s…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.  “Maybe he really can come back.”

              Above their heads, a loud crash made them jump, wide eyed.  Tom immediately had his wand out.  “Stay behind me,” he ordered and they both quietly hurried back up the stairs.  He looked around the door frame that lead back into the living room and saw nothing.  He motioned for her to continue following him.  Another crash came from above them again.  Hermione looked up and whispered, “the second floor.”  They climbed the stairs and peaked inside the nursery.  Alete’s dead body was sprawled on the floor in front of the empty crib.  She had been killed instantly with what looked like the Avada Kedavra Curse.  Her dead eyes stared wide and unfocused; a look of bewilderment on her face.  Next to her, a bookshelf full of nursery stories had fallen on its face and a lamp lay sideways on the floor at the other side of the room.  Hermione pointed them out to Tom and held her two fingers up.  Two crashes.  He nodded and motioned for her to follow him out of the room.  As she walked through the door, a voice behind her whispered.

              “…turn…”

              She grabbed the back of Tom’s shirt and spun back around.  Her head snapped left and right and she looked around the room, but there was no one there.

              “…turn…”

              The voice came from her feet.  She looked down just as a blue glow began to materialize under her shoes.  She flung herself backwards into Tom.  A translucent shape moved up through the floorboards and hovered in front of her.  It was the ghost of Alete Velch.  Her eyes were closed.  She almost looked like she was sleeping.  Hermione reached her hand out.  “Oh my… Alete?”

              The ghost’s eyes slowly opened and a look of terror crossed her features.  She opened her mouth wide, took in a deep breath and screamed.  “Time turner!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell yet that I love leaving chapters with absolutely horrible cliff hangers? Please don't hate me! I'll have another chapter up hopefully by the end of March. I'll be taking a much needed week of vacation to play D&D like it's my birthday (because it's my birthday) and I'll be writing chapter 6. I'll try to fit some more fan art into previous chapters as well, so be on the lookout! As always, please comment! I love reading what you all think. As much as the story itself is driving me, knowing that y'all are actually reading my work is propelling me forward with this project. Thanks again!


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